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THE 


SILENT    PARTNER 


ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS 

AUTHOB  o»  "THE  OATES  AJAR,"  "HEDGED  IN,"  ETC. 


"  Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and 
take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to  weigh 
and  consider." 

BACON. 


BOSTON   AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
pre??,  Cambridge 


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year  1871,  by  James  R.  Osgood  $•  Co.,  in 

the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at 

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Copyright,  1899,  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 

Ward.    All  rights  reserved. 


PS 


'J  NOTE. 

I 

|     TN  the  compilation  of  the  facts  which  go  to 
£     *~     form  this  fiction,  it  seems  desirable  to  say 
that   I   believe   I   have   neither   overlooked  nor 
libelled  those  intelligent  manufacturers  who  have 
i-_    expended  much  Christian  ingenuity,  with  much 
2    remarkable  success,  in  ameliorating  the  condition 
n    of  factory  operatives,  and  in  blunting  the  edge  of 
^    those  misapprehensions  and  disaffections  which 
exist   between    capital   and  labor,  between   em- 
ployer  and    employed,  between    ease    and   toil, 
between  millions  and  mills,  the  world  over. 

Had   Christian   ingenuity  been   generally  sy- 
jc     nonymous  with  the  conduct  of  manufacturing  cor- 
*     porations,  I  should  have  found  no  occasion  for 
the  writing  of  this  book. 

I  believe  that  a  wide-spread  ignorance  exists 
among  us  regarding  the  abuses  of  our  factory 
system,  more  especially,  but  not  exclusively,  as 
exhibited  in  many  of  the  country  mills. 


vi  Note. 

I  desire  it  to  be  understood  that  every  alarming 
sign  and  every  painful  statement  which  I  have 
given  in  these  pages  concerning  the  condition 
of  the  manufacturing  districts  could  be  matched 
with  far  less  cheerful  reading,  and  with  far  more 
pungent  perplexities,  from  the  pages  of  the  Re- 
ports of  the  Massachusetts  Bureau  of  Statistics 
of  Labor,  to  which,  with  other  documents  of  a 
kindred  nature,  and  to  the  personal  assistance 
of  friends  who  have  "  testified  that  they  have 
seen,"  I  am  deeply  in  debt  for  the  ribs  of  my 

story. 

E.  S.  P. 

ANDOVER,  December,  1870. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGH 
ACROSS  THE  GULF 9 

CHAPTER    II. 
THE  SLIPPERY  PATH  .        ....       .       .       .34 

CHAPTER    III. 
A  GAME  OF  CHESS      .       .       ...       .       .       .55 

CHAPTER    IV. 
THE  STONE  HOUSE     ...       .      .  *       .       .       .       .70 

CHAPTER    V. 
BUB  MELL 98 

CHAPTER    VI. 
MOULDINGS  AND  BRICKS 131 

CHAPTER    VII. 
CHECKMATE!        .       .       v      .*....  158 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

A  TROUBLESOME  CHARACTER     .  -     .  .166 


viii  Contents. 

CHAPTER   IX. 
A  FANCY  CASE 185 

CHAPTER    X. 
ECONOMICAL 203 

CHAPTER    XI. 
GOING  INTO  SOCIETY 222 


CHAPTER    XII. 
MAPLE  LEAVES 243 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
A  FEVERISH  PATIENT         .       .       .       .       .       .       .264 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
SWEPT  AND  GARNISHED 279 

CHAPTER    XV. 
A  PREACHER  AND  A  SERMON 291 


THE   SILENT   PARTNER. 

CHAPTER     I. 

ACROSS   THE    GULF. 

HHHE  rainiest  nights,  like  the  rainiest  lives, 
-*•     are  by  no  means  the  saddest. 
This    occurred    to   Miss   Kelso   one   January 
night,  not  many  winters    ago.     Though,   to    be 
exact,  it  was  rather  the  weather  than  the  simile 
which  occurred  to  her.     The  weather  may  hap- 
pen to  anybody,  and  so  serves  a  purpose  like 
photography   and   weddings.      Reflections  upon 
life  you  run  your  chance  of  at  twenty-three. 

If,  in  addition  to  the  circumstance  of  being 
twenty-three,  you  are  the  daughter  of  a  gentle- 
man manufacturer,  and  a  resident  of  Boston, 
it  would  hardly  appear  that  you  require  the 
ceremony  of  an  introduction.  A  pansy-bed  in 
the  sun  would  be  a  difficult  subject  of  classifi- 
cation. Undoubtedly,  pages  might  with  ease 


io  The  Silent  Partner. 

be  occupied  in  treating  of  Miss  Kelso's  gene- 
alogy. Her  descent  from  the  Pilgrims  could  be 
indisputably  proved.  It  would  be  possible  to 
ascertain  whether  or  not  she  cried  at  her  moth- 
er's funeral.  Thrilling  details  of  her  life  in  the 
nursery  are  upon  record.  Her  first  composition 
is  still  legible.  Indeed,  three  chapters,  at  the 
least,  might  be  so  profitably  employed  in  con- 
veying to  the  intelligence  of  the  most  far-sighted 
reader  the  remotest  intimation  of  Miss  Kelso's 
existence,  that  one  feels  compelled  into  an  apol- 
ogy to  high  art  for  presenting  her  in  three  lines 
and  a  northeaster. 

Perhaps  it  should  be  added  that  this  young 
lady  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  her  father's 
junior  partner,  and  that  she  was  sitting  in  her 
father's  library,  with  her  eyes  closed,  at  the 
time  when  the  weather  occurred  to  her ;  sit- 
ting, as  she  had  been  sitting  all  the  opaque,  gray 
afternoon,  in  a  crimson  chair  by  a  crimson  fire, 
a  creamy  profile  and  a  creamy  hand  lifted  and 
cut  between  the  two  foci  of  color.  The  profile 
had  a  level,  generous  chin.  The  hand  had  — 
rings. 

There  are  people  who  never  do  anything  that 


Across  the  Gulf.  n 

is  not  worth  watching  ;  they  cannot  eat  an  apple 
or  button  a  shoe  in  an  unnoticeable,  unsuggestive 
manner.  If  they  undertake  to  be  awkward,  they 
do  it  so  symbolically  that  you  feel  in  debt  to 
them  for  it.  Miss  Kelso  may  have  been  one 
of  these  indexical  persons ;  at  any  rate,  there 
was  something  in  her  simple  act  of  sitting  be- 
fore a  fire,  in  her  manner  of  shielding  her  eyes 
from  the  warmth  to  which  her  figure  was  lan- 
guidly abandoned,  which  to  a  posture-fancier 
would  have  been  very  expressive. 

She  had  noticed  in  an  idle  way,  swathed  to 
the  brain  in  her  folds  of  heat  and  color,  that  the 
chromatic  run  of  drops  upon  a  window,  duly 
deadened  by  drawn  damask,  and  adapted  nicely 
to  certain  conditions  of  a  cannel  blaze,  had  a 
pleasant  sound.  Accurately,  she  had  not  found 
herself  to  be  the  possessor  of  another  thought 
since  dinner ;  she  had  dined  at  three. 

It  had  been  a  long  storm,  but  Miss  Kelso  had 
found  no  occasion  to  dampen  the  sole  of  her 
delicate  sandals  in  the  little  puddles  that  dotted 
the  freestone  steps  and  drained  pavement.  It 
had  been  a  cold  storm,  but  the  library  held,  as 
a  library  should,  the  tints  and  scents  of  June. 


12  The  Silent  Partner. 

It  had  been  a  dismal  storm  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
Miss  Kelso  was  young,  well,  in  love,  and  —  Miss 
Kelso.  Given  the  problem,  Be  miserable,  she 
would  have  folded  her  hands  there  by  her  fire, 
like  a  puzzled  snow-flake  in  a  gorgeous  poppy, 
and  sighed,  "  But  I  do  not  understand  !  " 

To  be  sure,  her  father  was  out  of  town,  and  she 
had  mislaid  the  score  of  La  Grande  Duchesse,  — 
undesirable  circumstances,  both,  but  not  without 
their  compensations.  For  the  placid  pleasantness 
of  five  o'clock  paternal  society,  she  had  the  rich, 
irregular  delights  of  solitude  in  a  handsome  house, 
—  a  dream,  a  doubt,  a  daring  fancy  that  human 
society  would  snap,  an  odd  hope  pellmell  upon 
the  heels  of  an  extraordinary  fear,  snatches  of 
things,  the  mental  chaos  of  a  liberated  prisoner. 
Isolation  in  elegance  is  not  apt  to  be  productive 
of  thought,  however,  as  I  intimated. 

Opposed  to  the  loss  of  La  Duchesse  would  be 
the  pleasure  of  making  Maverick  look  for  it. 
Miss  Kelso  took  a  keen,  appreciative  enjoyment 
in  having  a  lazy  lover  ;  he  gave  her  something 
to  do  ;  he  was  an  occupation  in  himself.  She 
had  indeed  a  weakness  for  an  occupation  ;  suf- 
fered passions  of  superfluous  life  ;  at  the  Cape 


Across  the  Gulf.  13 

she  rebelled  because  Providence  had  not  cre- 
ated her  a  bluefisher ;  in  Paris  she  would  make 
muslin  flowers,  and  learn  the  wittier  to-mor- 
row. 

This  was  piquant  in  her;  her  plighted  hus- 
band found  himself  entertained  by  it  always ; 
he  folded  her  two  hands  like  sheets  of  rice- 
paper  over  his  own,  with  an  easy  smile. 

The  weather  occurred  to  the  young  lady 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  form  of  a  query :  Was 
it  worth  while  to  go  out  to-night  ?  She  culti- 
vated an  objection  to  Don  Giovanni  in  the  rain, 
—  and  it  always  rained  on  Giovanni;  Maverick 
could  talk  Brignoli  to  Mrs.  Silver,  and. hold  a 
fan  for  Fly,  as  well  without  her ;  she  happened 
to  find  herself  more  interested  in  an  arm-chair 
than  in  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  slippers 
were  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  life.  Was 
it  worth  while  ? 

This  was  one  of  those  vital  questions  which 
require  immediate  motives  for  a  settlement,  and 
of  immediate  motives  Miss  Kelso  possessed  very 
few.  Indeed,  it  was  as  yet  unanswered  in  her 
own  mind,  when  the  silver  handle  of  her  carriage- 
door  had  shut  with  a  little  shine  like  a  smile 


14  The  Silent  Partner. 

upon  her,  and  Fly's  voice,  like  boiling  candy, 
bubbled  at  her  from  the  front  seat. 

Maverick  had  called  ;  there  had  been  a  whiff 
of  pleasant  wet  air  in  her  face  ;  and,  after  all,  life 
and  patent  springs  are  much  alike  in  doors  or  out. 

Miss  Kelso  sank  languidly  back  into  the  per- 
fumed cushions  ;  the  close  doors  and  windows 
shut  in  their  thick  sweetness ;  the  broken  lights 
of  the  street  dropped  in,  and  Maverick  sat  be- 
side her. 

"You  have  had  your  carriage  re-scented, 
Perley,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Fly,  who  was  just 
enough  at  home  with  Perley  to  say  it. 

"  From  Harris's,  —  yes." 

"  Santalina,  unless  I  am  quite  mistaken  ? " 

This,  softly,  from  Mrs.  Silver ;  Mrs.  Silver 
was  apt  to  speak  very  softly. 

"  I  was  tired  to  death  of  heliotrope,"  said 
Perley,  with  a  weary  motion  of  her  well-shaped 
head  ;  "  it  clings  so.  There  was  some  trouble, 
I  believe,  to  take  it  out ;  new  stuffing  and 
covering.  But  I  think  it  pays." 

"  Indeed,  yes,  richly." 

"It  always  pays  to  take  trouble  for  sachet,  I 
think,"  said  Fly,  sententiously. 


Across  the  Gulf.  15 

"  Perley  never  makes  a  mistake  in  a  perfume," 
—  that  came,  of  course,  from  Maverick. 

"Perley  never  did  make  a  mistake  in  a  per-- 
fume,"  observed  Mrs.  Silver,  in  the  mild  mother- 
ly manner  which  she  had  acquired  from  fre- 
quently matronizing  Perley.  "  Never  from  the 
day  Burt  made  the  blunder  of  tuberoses  for 
her  poor  mother.  The  child  flung  them  out 
of  the  casket  herself.  She  was  six  years  old 
the  day  before.  It  was  a  gratification  to  me 
when  Burt  went  out  of  fashion." 

Perley,  it  may  be  presumed,  feeling  always 
some  awkwardness  at  the  mention  of  a  dead 
parent  for  whom  propriety  required  her  to 
mourn,  and  in  connection  with  whose  faint  mem- 
ory she  could  not,  do  the  best  she  might,  acquire 
an  unhappiness,  made  no  reply,  and  sachet  and 
Mrs.  Silver  dropped  into  silence  together.  Fly 
broke  it,  in  her  ready  way  :  "  So  kind  in  you 
to  send  for  us,  Perley  ! " 

"  It  was  quite  proper,"  said  Perley. 

She  did  not  think  of  anything  else  to  say, 
and  fell,  as  her  santalina  and  her  chaperone 
had  fallen,  a  little  noticeably  out  of  the  con- 
versation. 


1 6  The  Silent  Partner. 

Fly  and  Maverick  Hayle  did  the  talking.  Mrs. 
Silver  dropped  in  now  and  then  properly. 

Perley  listened  lazily  to  the  three  voices  ;  one 
sometimes  hears  very  noticeable  voices  from  very 
unnoticeable  people  ;  these  were  distinct  of  note 
as  a  triplet ;  idle,  soft,  and  sweet  —  sweetly,  softly 
idle.  She  played  accompaniments  with  them  to 
her  amused  fancy. 

The  triplet  rounded  into  a  chord  presently,  and 
made  her  a  little  sleepy.  Sensitive  only  to  an 
occasional  flat  or  sharp  of  Brignoli  or  Kellogg, 
she  fell  with  half-closed  eyes  into  the  luxury  of 
her  own  thoughts. 

What  were  they  ?  What  does  any  young  lady 
think  about  on  her  way  to  the  opera  ?  One 
would  like  to  know.  A  young  lady,  for  instance, 
who  is  used  to  her  gloves,  and  indifferent  to  her 
stone  cameos ;  who  has  the  score  by  heart,  and 
is  tired  of  the  prima  donna;  who  has  had  a 
season  ticket  every  winter  since  she  can  re- 
member, and  will  have  one  every  winter  till 
she  dies  ? 

The  ride  to  the  theatre  was  not  a  short  one, 
and  slow  that  night  on  account  of  the  storm, 
which  was  thickening  a  little,  half  snow. 


Across  the  Gulf.  17 

Parley,  through  the  white  curtains  of  her  fall- 
ing eyelids,  looked  out  at  it  ;  she  was  fond  of 
watching  the  streets  when  no  one  was  watching 
her,  especially  on  stormy  nights,  for  no  rea- 
son in  particular  that  she  knew  of,  except  that 
she  felt  so  dry  and  comfortable.  So  clean  too ! 
There  were  a  great  many  muddy  people  out  that 
night  ;  the  sleet  did  not  wash  them  as  fast  as  the 
mud  spattered  them  ;  and  the  wind  at  the  cor- 
ners sprang  on  them  sharply.  From  her  carnage 
window  she  could  look  on  and  see  it  lying  in 
wait  for  them,  and  see  it  crouch  and  bound  and 
set  teeth  on  them.  She  really  followed  with 
some  interest,  having  nothing  better  to  do,  the 
manful  struggles  of  a  girl  in  a  plaid  dress,  who 
battled  with  the  gusts  about  a  carriage-length 
ahead  of  her,  for  perhaps  half  a  dozen  blocks. 
This  girl  struck  out  with  her  hands  as  a  boxer 
would  ;  sometimes  she  pommelled  with  her  el- 
bows and  knees  like  a  desperate  prize-fighter  ; 
she  was  rather  small,  but  she  kept  her  balance  ; 
when  her  straw  hat  blew  off,  she  chased  head- 
long after  it,  and  Perley  languidly  smiled.  She 
was  apt  to  be  amused  by  the  world  outside  of 
her  carriage.  It  conceived  such  original  ways 


1 8  The  Silent  Partner. 

of  holding  its  hands,  and  wearing  its  hats,  and 
carrying  its  bundles.  It  had  such  a  taste  in 
colors,  such  disregard  of  clean  linen,  and  was 
always  in  such  a  hurry.  This  last  especially 
interested  her;  Miss  Kelso  had  never  been  in 
a  hurry  in  her  life. 

"There!"  said  Fly. 

"  Where  ?  "  said  Perley,  starting. 

"  I  've  broken  my  fan  ;  made  a  perfect  wreck 
of  it !  What  shall  I  do  ?  No,  thank  you. 
Mr.  Hayle,  I  am  in  blue  to-night.  You  know 
you  could  n't  fail  to  get  me  a  green  one  if  you 
tried.  You  must  bring  me  out  —  but  it  's  too 
wet  to  bring  fans  out.  Mother,  we  must  go  in 
ourselves." 

So  it  came  about  that  in  the  land  of  fans,  or  in 
the  region  roundabout,  Maverick  and  the  Silvers 
disappeared  in  the  flash  of  a  fancy-store,  and 
Perley,  in  the  carriage,  was  left  alone. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Silver,  placidly,  as  the 
umbrella  extinguished  her,  "  we  are  making  our 
friends  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  Fly,  for  a  little 
thing." 

Now  Perley  did  not  find  it  a  trouble.  She 
was  rather  glad  to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes. 


Across  the  Gulf.  19 

In  fact,  she  took  it  very  kindly  in  Fly  to  break 
that  fan,  and,  as  she  afterwards  thought,  with 
reason. 

The  carriage  door  was  left  open,  by  her  orders. 
She  found  something  pleasant  in  the  wet  wildness 
of  the  storm  ;  it  came  near  enough  almost  to 
dampen  her  cheek  as  she  leaned  forward  towards 
it  ;  and  the  street  came  into  the  frame  that  was 
left,  in  a  sharp  picture. 

The  sidewalk  was  very  wet ;  in  spots  the 
struggling  snow  drifted  grayish  white,  and  went 
out  into  black  mud  under  a  sudden  foot ;  the 
eaves  and  awnings  dripped  steadily,  and  there 
was  a  little  puddle  on  the  carriage  step  ;  the 
colored  lights  of  a  druggist's  window  shimmered 
and  broke  against  the  pavement  and  the  carriage 
and  the  sleet,  leaving  upon  the  fancy  the  sur- 
prise of  a  rainbow  in  a  snow-storm  ;  people's 
faces  dipped  through  it  curiously  ;  here,  a  fellow 
with  a  waxed  mustache  struck  into  murderous 
red,  and  dripped  so  horridly  that  a  policeman, 
in  the  confusion  of  the  storm,  eyed  him  for  half  a 
block  ;  there,  a  hale  old  man  fell  suddenly  into 
the  last  stages  of  jaundice  ;  beyond,  a  girl  strag- 
gling jealously  behind  a  couple  of  very  wet,  but 


2O  The  Silent  Partner. 

very  happy  lovers,  turned  deadly  green  ;  a  little 
this  way,  another  stepped  into  a  bar  of  lily 
white,  and  stood  and  shone  in  it  for  an  instant, 
'  without  spot  or  stain,  or  any  such  thing,"  but 
stepped  out  of  it,  quite  out,  shaking  herself  a 
little  as  she  went,  as  if  the  lighted  touch  had 
scorched  her. 

Still  another  girl  (Miss  Kelso  expressed  to 
herself  some  languid  wonder  that  the  night 
should  find  so  many  young  girls  out,  and  alone, 
and  noted  how  little  difference  the  weather  ap- 
peared to  make  with  that  class  of  people)  —  the 
girl  in  plaid,  whom  the  storm  had  buffeted 
back  for  the  last  few  moments  —  came  up  with 
the  carriage,  and  stopped,  full  against  the  drug- 
gist's window,  for  breath.  She  looked  taller, 
standing  in  the  light,  than  she  had  done  when 
boxing  the  wind  at  the  corners,  but  still  a  little 
undersized  ;  she  had  no  gloves,  and  her  straw  hat 
hung  around  her  neck  by  the  strings  ;  she  must 
have  been  very  cold,  for  her  lips  were  blue,  but 
she  did  not  shiver. 

Who  has  not  noticed  that  fantastic  fate  of 
galleries,  which  will  hang  a  saint  and  a  Magda- 
lene, a  Lazarus  and  Dives,  face  to  face  ?  And 


Across  the  Gulf.  21 

who  has  not  felt,  with  those  transfixed  glances, 
doomed  by  sunlight,  starlight,  moonlight,  twi- 
light, in  crowds  and  in  hush,  from  year  unto 
year,  to  struggle  towards  each  other, — vain  build- 
ers of  a  vain  bridge  across  the  fixed  gulf  of  an 
irreparable  lot,  —  a  weariness  of  sympathy,  which 
wellnigh  extinguished  the  artistic  fineness  of  the 
chance?  Something  of  this  feeling  would  have 
struck  a  keen  observer  of  Miss  Kelso  and  the 
little  girl  in  plaid. 

Their  eyes  had  met,  when  the  girl  lifted  her 
arms  to  tie  on  her  hat.  Against  the  burning 
globes  of  the  druggist's  window,  which  quivered 
and  swam  through  the  sheen  of  the  fall  of  sleet, 
and  just  where  the  perfect  spectrum  broke  about 
her,  she  made  a  miserably  meagre  figure.  Miss 
Kelso,  from  the  soft  dry  gloom  of  her  carriage 
door,  leaned  out  resplendent. 

The  girl's  lips  moved  angrily,  and  she  said 
.something  in  a  sharp  voice  which  the  wind  must 
have  carried  the  other  way,  for  the  druggist 
heard  it,  and  sent  a  clerk  out  to  order  her  off. 
Miss  Kelso,  obeying  one  of  her  whimsical  im- 
pulses, —  who  had  a  better  right,  indeed,  to  be 
whimsical  ?  —  beckoned  to  the  girl,  who,  after 


22  The  Silent  Partner. 

swearing  a  little  at  the  druggist's  clerk,  strode 
up  rather  roughly  to  the  carriage. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  and  what  were 
you  staring  at  ?  Did  n't  you  ever  see  anybody 
lose  his  hat  in  a  sleet-storm  before?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Miss  Kelso  ;  "  I  did 
not  mean  to  be  rude." 

She  spoke  on  the  instinct  of  a  lady.  She  was 
nothing  of  a  philanthropist,  not  much  of  a  Chris- 
tian. Let  us  be  honest,  even  if  inbred  sin 
and  courtesy,  not  justification  by  faith,  andv  con- 
science, induced  this  rather  remarkable  reply.  I 
call  it  remarkable,  from  the  standpoint  of  girls  in 
plaid.  That  particular  girl,  without  doubt,  found 
it  so.  She  raised  her  eyes  quickly  and  keenly  to 
the  young  lady's  face. 

"  I  think  I  must  have  been  sorry  for  you," 
observed  Miss  Kelso  ;  "  that  was  why  I  looked  at 
you.  You  seemed  cold  and  wet." 

"  You  're  not  cold  and  wet,  at  any  rate." 

This  was  raggedly  said,  and  bitter.  It  made 
Miss  Kelso  feel  singularly  uncomfortable ;  as  if 
she  were  to  blame  for  not  being  cold  and  wet. 
She  felt  a  curious  impulse  towards  self-defence, 
and  curiously  enough  she  followed  it  by  saying, 
M  I  cannot  help  that !  " 


Across  the  Gulf.  23 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
"  N-no  ;  but  I  hate  to  be  pitied  by  carriage- 
folks.  I  won't  be  pitied  by  carriage-folks !  " 

"  Sit  down  on  the  steps,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  "  and 
let  me  look  at  you.  I  do  not  often  see  people 
just  like  you.  What  is  your  name?" 

"  What  's  yours  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Miss  Kelso." 

"  And  /  am  called  Sip  Garth." 

That  ragged  bitterness  was  in  the  girl's  voice 
again,  much  refined,  but  distinct.  Miss  Kelso,  to 
whom  it  seemed  quite  natural  that  the  small 
minority  of  the  world  should  feel  at  liberty  to 
use,  at  first  sight,  the  Christian  name  of  the  large 
remainder,  took  little  or  no  notice  of  it. 

But  what  could  bring  her  out  in  such  a 
storm,  asked  Miss  Kelso  of  Sip  Garth. 

"The  Blue  Plum  brings  out  better  than  me. 
Who  cares  for  a  little  sleet  ?  See  how  wet  I 
am  !  /  don't  care."  She  wrung  out  her  thin 
and  dripping  shawl,  as  she  spoke,  between  her 
bare,  wet  hands. 

"The  Blue  Plum?"  Miss  Kelso  hesitated, 
taking  the  thing  daintily  upon  her  lips.  What 
did  she,  or  should  sne,  know  of  the  Blue  Plum  ? 


24  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  But  the  theatre  is  no  place  for  you,  my  poor 
girl"  She  felt  sure  of  as  much  as  that.  She 
had  dimly  understood  as  much  from  her  father 
and  the  newspapers.  No  theatre  patronized  by 
the  lower  classes  could  be  a  place  for  a  poor 
girl. 

"  It 's  no  place  for  you,"  she  said  again.  "  You 
had  so  much  better  go  home." 

Sip  Garth  laughed.  She  swung  herself  upon 
the  highest  step  of  Miss  Kelso's  carriage,  and 
laughed  almost  in  Miss  Kelso's  fine,  shocked 
face. 

"  How  do  yott  know  whether  I  had  so  much 
better  go  home  ?  Wait  till  you  've  been  working 
on  your  feet  all  day,  and  wait  till  you  live  where 
/  live,  before  you  know  whether  I  had  so  much 
better  go  home  !  Besides  "  —  she  broke  off  with 
a  quick  change  of  tone  and  countenance  —  "I 
don't  go  for  the  Plum.  The  Plum  does  n't  make 
much  odds  to  me.  I  go  to  see  how  Tnuch  better 
I  could  do  it." 

"  Could  you  ?  " 

" Could rit  I!" 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  do.    Give  me  the  music, 


Across  the  Gulf.  25 

give  me  the  lights,  and  the  people,  and  the 
poetry,  and  I'd  do  it.  I'd  make  'em  laugh, 
would  n't  I  ?  I  'd  make  'em  cry,  you  may  make 
up  your  mind  on  that.  That 's  what  I  go  to  the 
Plum  for.  I  do  it  over.  That 's  what  you  think 
of  in  the  mills,  don't  you  see  ?  That 's  so  much 
better  than  going  home, — to  do  it  over." 

"  You  seem,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  with  some  per- 
plexed weariness  in  her  expression,  —  perhaps 
she  had  carried  her  whim  quite  far  enough,  — 
"you  seem  to  be  a  very  singular  girl." 

Evidently  Miss  Kelso's  coachman,  whose  hat- 
brim  appeared  and  peered  uneasily  over  the  box 
at  disgusted  intervals,  thought  so  too.  Evidently 
the  passers,  such  of  them  as  had  preserved  their 
eyesight  from  the  ravages  of  the  sleet,  thought 
so  too.  Evidently  it  was  quite  time  for  the  girl 
in  plaid  to  go. 

"  I  wonder  what  you  seem  like,"  said  Sip 
Garth,  thoughtfully.  She  leaned,  as  she  spoke, 
into  the.  sweet  dimness  of  the  carriage,  and 
gravely  studied  the  sweet  dimness  of  the  young 
lady's  face.  Having  done  this,  she  nodded  to 
herself  once  or  twice  with  a  shrewd  smile,  but 
said  nothing.  Her  wet  shawl  now  almost  brushed 


26  The  Silent  Partner, 

Miss  Kelso's  dress  ;  the  girl  was  not  filthy,  but 
the  cleanliest  poverty  in  a  Boston  tenement- 
house  fails  to  acquire  the  perfumes  of  Arabia, 
and  Perley  sickened  and  shrank.  Yet  it  struck 
her  as  odd,  for  the  moment,  if  you  will  believe  it, 
that  she  should  have  santalina  in  her  carriage 
cushions  ;  not  as  ill-judged,  not  as  undesirable, 
not  as  in  any  way  the  concern  of  girls  from  tene- 
ment-houses, not  at  all  as  something  which  she 
would  not  do  again  to-morrow,  but  only  as  odd. 

She  had  thought  no  more  than  this,  when  the 
disgusted  coachman,  with  an  air  of  infinite  per- 
sonal relief,  officially  announced  Mr.  Hayle,  and 
Fly  came  laughing  sweetly  back.  It  was  quite 
time  for  Sip  to  go. 

In  the  confusion  she  dripped  away  among  the 
water-spouts  like  one  of  them,  before  Miss  Kelso 
could  speak  to  her  again. 

The  street  came  into  the  frame  that  was  left  in 
a  sharp  picture.  The  sidewalk  was  once  more 
very  wet  ;  in  spots  the  struggling  snow  drifted, 
grayish  white,  and  went  out  into  black  mud 
under  sudden  feet  ;  the  eaves  and  awnings 
dripped  steadily,  and  there  was  a  little  puddle 
on  the  carriage  steps. 


Across  the  Gulf.  27 

Miss  Kelso  had  a  young,  fresh  imagination, 
a  little  highly  colored,  perhaps,  by  opera  music, 
and  it  made  of  these  things  a  vivid  background 
for  the  girl  in  plaid,  into  which  and  out  of  which 
she  stepped  with  a  fanciful  significance. 

With  the  exception  of  her  servants,  her  seam- 
stresses, and  the  very  little  members  of  a  very  lit- 
tle Sabbath-school  class,  which  demanded  of  her 
very  little  thought  and  excited  in  her  very  little 
interest,  Miss  Kelso  had  never  in  her  life  before 
—  I  think  I  speak  without  exaggeration  —  had 
never  in  her  life  before  exchanged  a  dozen  words 
with  an  example  of  what  Maverick  Hayle  was 
pleased  to  term  the  oi  TroXXot,  thereby  evincing 
at  once  his  keen  appreciation  of  the  finer  dis~ 
tinctions  both  of  life  and  letters,  as  well  as  the 
fact,  that,  though  a  successful  manufacturer,  he 
had  received  a  collegiate  education  and  had  not 
yet  forgotten  it.  And,  indeed,  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  observe,  "  Nothing  gives  a  man  such  a 
prestige  in  society." 

The  girl  in  plaid  then,  to  repeat,  was  a  novelty 
to  Perley  Kelso.  She  fell  back  into  her  cushions 
again  to  think  about  her. 

"  Poor  Perley !  I  hope  she  found  herself  amused 


28  The  Silent  Partner. 

while  we  were  gone,"  sympathized  Fly,  fluttering 
in  with  her  new  fan.  Perley  thanked  her,  and 
had  found  herself  amused,  much  amused. 

Yet,  in  truth,  she  had  found  herself  saddened, 
singularly  saddened.  She  could  scarcely  have 
understood  why.  Nothing  more  definite  than  an 
uncomfortable  consciousness  that  all  the  world 
had  not  an  abundance  of  sachet  and  an  apprecia- 
tion of  Brignoli  struck  her  distinctly.  But  how 
it  rained  on  that  girl  looking  in  at  her  from  the 
carriage  steps !  Jt  must  rain  on  many  girls 
while  she  sat  in  her  sweet,  warm,  sheltered  dark- 
ness. It  must  be  a  disagreeable  thing,  this  being 
out  in  the  rain.  She  did  not  fancy  the  thud  of 
drops  on  her  carriage-roof  as  much  as  usual ;  the 
wind  waiting  at  corners  to  crouch  and  spring 
on  people  ceased  to  amuse  her  ;  it  looked  cruel 
and  cold.  She  shivered  and  looked  so  chilly 
that  Maverick  folded  her  ermines  like  a  won- 
derful warm  snow-cloud  tenderly  about  her,  and 
drowned  the  storm  from  her  hearing  with  his 
tender,  lazy  voice. 

In  the  decorous  rustle  of  the  crowd  winding 
down  •  through  the  corridors,  like  a  glittering 
snake,  after  Giovanni  that -night,  Fly  started 


Across  the  Gulf.  29 

with  a  little  faint  scream,  and  touched  Perley 
on  the  arm. 

"  My  dear  Perley  !  —  Mr.  Hayle,  there  is  a  girl 
annoying  Perley." 

At  Perley's  elbow,  trying  quietly  but  persist- 
ently to  attract  her  attention,  Perley  was  startled 
and  not  well  pleased  to  see  the  girl  in  plaid.  In 
the  heat  and  light  and  scent  and  soft  babble  of 
the  place,  she  cut  a  jagged  outline.  The  crowd 
broke  in  beautiful  billows  about  her  and  away 
from  her.  It  seemed  not  unlike  a  radiant  sea 
out  of  which  she  had  risen,  black  and  warning  as 
a  hidden  reef.  She  might  have  been  thought  to  be 
not  so  much  a  foreign  horror  as  a  sunken  danger 
in  the  shining  place.  She  seemed,  indeed,  rather 
to  have  bounded  native  from  its  glitter,  than  to 
have  forced  herself  upon  it.  Her  eyes  were  very 
large  and  bright,  and  she  drew  Perley's  beautiful, 
disturbed  face  down  to  her  own  with  one  bare 
hand. 

"  Look  here,  young  lady,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  I  want  to  know  why  you  tell  me  the  Plum 
is  no  place  for  me  ?  What  kind  of  a  place  is 
this  for  you  ?  —  now  say,  what  kind  of  a  place  ? 
You  don't  know  ;  but  I  do  I  followed  you  here 


30  T/ie  Silent  Partner. 

to  see.  I  tell  you  it  's  the  plating  over  that 's 
the  difference  ;  the  plating  over.  At  the  Plum 
we  say  what  we  mean  ;  and  we  mean  bad  enough, 
very  like.  We  're  rough,  and  we  're  out  with  it. 
Up  at  this  place  they  're  in  with  it.  They  plate 
over.  The  music  plates  over.  The  people  plate 
over.  It 's  different  from  us,  and  it  ain't  different 
from  us.  Don't  you  see  ?  No,  you  don't.  I  do. 
But  you  'd  ought  to,  —  you  'd  ought  to.  You  're 
old  enough  and  wise  enough.  I  don't  mean  to 
be  saucy ;  but  I  put  it  to  you  honest,  if  I  have 
n't  seen  and  heard  that  in  this  grand  place  to- 
night —  all  plated  over  —  that 's  no  more  fit  for  a 
lady  like  you  seem  to  be  to  sit  and  see  and  hear, 
than  it 's  fit  for  me  and  the  like  of  me  to  sit  and 
see  and  hear  the  Plum.  I  put  it  to  you  honest, 
and  that 's  all,  and  I  'm  sorry  to  plague  you  with 
all  your  fine  friends  about,  for  I  liked  the  looks 
of  you  right  well  when  I  sat  on  your  carriage 
steps.  But  it  ain't  often  you  '11  have  the  chance 
to  hear  truer  words  from  a  rough  girl  like  me  ; 
and  it  ain't  likely  you  hear  no  more  words  true 
nor  false  from  me  ;  so  good  by,  young  lady.  I 
put  it  to  you  honest ! " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Miss  Kelso,  somewhat  pale,  as 


Across  the  Gulf.  31 

Maverick  stepped  up  to  drive  the  girl  away. 
"  Let  her  alone.  It  's  only  a  girl  I  —  amused 
myself  with  when  you  went  with  Fly  for  the  fan. 
Let  her  be.  It  was  only  a  whim  of  mine,  and,  as 
it  has  proved,  a  foolish  one.  I  am  not  used  to 
such  people.  She  was  coarse  and  hurt  me.  But 
let  her  go." 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  choose  your  amuse- 
ments more  wisely  another  time,"  said  Maverick 
Hayle,  looking  angrily  after  Sip,  who  was  edging 
her  way,  with  a  sharp  motion,  through  the  ra- 
diant sea.  She  disappeared  from  view  on  the 
stairway  suddenly,  and  the  waves  of  scent  and 
light  and  heat  and  babble  met  and  closed  over 
her  as  merrily  as  waves  are  wont  to  meet  and 
close  over  sunken  reefs. 

The  ripple  of  Miss  Kelso's  disturbed  thoughts 
closed  over  her  no  less  thoroughly,  after  the 
momentary  annoyance  was  past  She  had  done 
a  foolish  thing,  and  been  severely  punished  for 
it.  That  was  all.  As  Maverick  said^the  lower 
classes  could_not  bear  any  unusual  attention  from 
their  betters,  without  injiiry.  Maverick  in  his 
business  connection  had  occasion  to  know.  He 
must  be  right. 


32  The  Silent  Partner. 

Maverick  in  his  business  connection  had  occa- 
sion to  know  another  thing  that  night.  Maverick 
in  his  business  connection  was  met  by  a  tele- 
gram, on  returning  with  Miss  Kelso  to  her 
father's  house.  The  senior  partner  held  the 
despatch  in  his  hand.  He  was  sitting  in  Miss 
Kelso's  parlor.  His  face  was  grave  and  dis- 
turbed. 

"  Losses,  perhaps,"  thought  Perley,  and  left 
father  and  son  alone.  They  did  not  seem  in- 
clined to  remain  alone,  however.  She  had  not 
yet  taken  off  her  wraps  in  the  hall,  when  she 
heard  Maverick  say  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  I 
can't !  I  cannot  do  it ! "  and  Mr.  Hayle  the 
senior  came  out.  The  despatch  was  still  in 
his  hand. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Perley,"  he  said,  with  some 
hesitation. 

"  Yes,  sir  ? "  said  Perley,  unfastening  her 
corded  fur. 

"Your  father — " 

"  Wait  a  minute ! "  said  Perley,  speaking  fast. 
She  unfastened  the  fur,  and  folded  the  cape  up 
into  a  white  heap  with  much  pains  and  precision. 

She  was  struck  with  a  childish  dread  of  hear- 


Across  the  Gulf.  33 

ing  a  horrible  thing.  She  felt  singularly  con- 
fused. Snatches  of  Giovanni  danced  through 
her  brain.  She  thought  that  she  saw  the  girl 
in  plaid  sitting  on  her  front  stairs,  with  a  world- 
ful  of  rain  upon  her  head.  Her  own  thought 
came  curiously  back  to  her,  in  words  :  "  How 
disagreeable  it  must  be  to  sit  out  in  the  rain  ! " 
Her  youth  and  happiness  shrank  with  a  sudden 
faint  sickness  at  being  disturbed.  It  was  with  as 
much  fright  as  grief  that  she  took  the  paper  from 
her  father's  old  friend  and  read  :  — 

"  Crushed  at  six  o  clock  this  afternoon,  in  the , 
freight  depot  at  Five  Falls.     Instant  death'.' 


34  The  Silent  Partner 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  SLIPPERY  PATH. 

"XT OTHING  is  more  conducive  to  one's  sense 
•L  ^  of  personal  comfort  than  to  live  in  a  fac- 
tory town  and  not  be  obliged  to  answer  factory 
bells.  This  is  especially  to  be  said  of  those  misty 
morning  bells,  which  lay  a  cloudy  finger  upon 
one's  last  lingering  dream,  and  dip  it  and  dimple 
it  into  shreds;  of  those  six-o'clock  winter  bells, 
whose  very  tongues  seem  to  have  stiffened  with 
the  cold,  and  to  move  thickly  and  numbly  against 
their  frosted  cheeks.  One  listens  and  dozes,  and 
would  dream  again  but  for  listening  again,  and 
draws  one's  silk  and  eider  shoulder-robe  closer  to 
one's  warm  throat  with  a  shiver  of  rare  enjoy- 
ment. Iron  voices  follow,  and  pierce  the  shoul- 
der-robe. They  are  distinct  in  spite  of  the  eider, 
though  a  little  hoarse.  One  turns  and  wraps 
one's  self  again.  They  are  dulled,  but  inexorable. 
One  listens  and  dozes,  and  would  dream  again 


The  Slippery  Path.  35 

but  for  listening.  The  inexorable  is  the  delight- 
ful. One  has  to  take  only  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
ing. A  dim  consciousness  of  many  steps  of  cold 
people  cutting  the  biting,  sunless  air,  gives  a 
crispness  to  the  blankets.  The  bells  shiver  in 
sympathy  with  the  steps,  and  the  steps  shiver  in 
response  to  the  bells.  The  bells  hurry,  hurry, 
hurry  on  the  steps.  The  steps  hurry,  hurry, 
hurry  to  the  bells.  The  bells  grow  cross  and 
snappish,  —  it  is  so  cold.  The  steps  grow  pert 
and  saucy,  —  it  is  so  cold.  Bells  and  steps,  in  a 
convulsion  of  ill-temper,  go  out  from  hearing  to- 
gether, and  only  a  sense  of  pillows  and  two  hours 
before  breakfast  fills  the  world. 

Miss  Kelso,  waking  to  the  six-o'clock  bells  of  a 
winter  morning,  appreciates  this  with  uncommon 
keenness  ;  with  the  more  uncommon  keenness 
that  she  has  never  waked  to  the  six-o'clock  bells 
of  a  winter  morning  before.  She  has  experienced 
the  new  sensation  of  spending,  for  the  first  time, 
a  February  night  in  her  July  house,  and  is  so 
thoroughly  convinced  that  she  ought  to  be  cold, 
and  so  perfectly  assured  that  she  is  n't,  that  the 
dangerous  consideration  of  the  possible  two  hours 
before  mentioned,  and  the  undeniable  fact  that 


36  The  Silent  Partner. 

she  has  invited  Maverick  to  breakfast  at  seven, 
incite  between  her  delicate  young  flesh  and  her 
delicate  young  conscience  one  of  those  painful 
and  prolonged  struggles  which  it  is  impossible  for 
any  one  who  is  obliged  to  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing to  appreciate.  Conscience  conquering,  after 
a  protracted  contest,  the  vanquished  party  slips 
reluctantly  and  slowly  out  of  silk  and  eider 
into  crfyins  and  Persiana,  just  as  Mr.  Maver- 
ick Hayle's  self-possessed  ring  plays  leisurely 
through  the  house. 

The  ghastly  death  of  the  managing  partner 
has  had  its  effect  upon  his  business  and  his 
daughter,  without  doubt.  Upon  his  business  — 
as  might  be  assumed  from  the  fact  that  Maverick 
Hayle  should  breakfast  at  seven  o'clock  —  a  con- 
fusing effect,  requiring  care  and  time  to  adjust 
with  wisdom.  Upon  his  daughter,  — what,  for 
instance  ?  If  he  slipped  from  her  life,  as  he  slips 
from  her  story,  so  heart  slips  away  from  heart, 
and  love  from  love,  with  the  slide  of  every  hour. 
To  cross  the  gap  from  life  with  a  father  to  life 
without,  very  much  as  the  February  night 
descended  upon  the  July  house,  were  not  un- 
natural. One  must  be  warm,  at  all  events. 


The  Slippery  Path.  37 

Her  grief  was  wrapped  in  swaddling-clothes. 
It  was  such  a  young  grief,  and  she  so  young  a 
griever  ;  and  the  sun  shone,  and  the  winter  air 
was  crisp. 

Perley  had  been  fond  of  her  father,  —  of  course  ; 
and  mourned  him,  —  of  course  :  but  fondness  is 
not  friendship,  and  mourning  is  not  desolation. 
Add  to  this  a  certain  obstinate  vein  in  this 
young  woman,  which  suggested  it  to  her  fancy 
as  a  point  of  loyalty  to  her  father's  memory 
not  to  strain  her  sorrow  beyond  its  honest 
altitude,  and  what  follows?  To  be  at  first  very 
sadly  shocked,  to  be  next  very  truly  lonely ;  to 
wish  that  she  had  never  been  cross  to  him 
(which  she  had),  and  to  be  sure  that  he  had  never 
been  cross  to  her  (which  he  had) ;  to  see,  and 
love  to  see,  the  best  of  the  departed  life  and 
the  sweetest  of  the  departed  days ;  and  then  to 
wander  musing  away,  by  sheer  force  of  con- 
trast, upon  her  own  unfinished  life,  and  into 
the  sweetness  of  her  own  coming  days,  and  re- 
pent of  it  next  moment  ;  to  forget  one  after- 
noon to  notice  the  five-o'clock  solitude  because 
Maverick  comes  in  ;  to  take  very  much  to  her 
Prayer-Book  the  first  fortnight,  and  entirely  to 


38  The  Silent  Partner. 

Five  Falls  the  second  ;  and  to  be  pouring  out 
her  lover's  coffee  this  morning,  very  lovely,  a 
little  quiet,  and  less  unhappy. 

"But  pale?"  suggested  Maverick,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  with  the  raised  eyebrow  of  a 
connoisseur,  to  pronounce  upon  the  effect  of  her. 
The  effect  was  good,  very  good.  Her  black 
dress,  and  the  little  silver  tete-a-tete  service  over 
which  she  leaned,  set  one  another  off  quaintly  ; 
and  a  trifle  more  color  in  her  face  would  have 
left  the  impression  of  a  sketch  finished  by  two 
artists  who  had  failed  of  each  other's  idea. 

Perley  did  not  know  that  she  was  pale  ;  did 
not  feel  pale  ;  felt  perhaps  —  and  paused. 

How  did  she  feel  ? 

Apparently  she  did  not  feel  like  explaining 
to  Maverick  Hayle.  Something  in  the  delicate 
motion  with  which  he  raised  the  delicate  nap- 
kin in  his  well-shaped  hand  to  his  delicately 
trimmed  mustache  acted  perhaps  as  a  counter- 
irritant  to  some  delicate  shading  of  her  thought. 
It  would  not  have  been  the  first  time  that  such 
a  thing  had  happened.  He  was  as  necessary  to 
Ferley  Kelso  as  her  Axminster  carpets  ;  he 
""uted  her  in  the  same  way  ;  in  the  same  way 


The  Slippery  Path.  39 

he  —  sometimes  —  wearied  her.  But  how  did 
she  feel  ? 

"  As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out,"  said  Perley, 
"  I  feel  like  a  large  damask  curtain  taken  down 
for  the  first  time  off  its  cornice,"  with  a  glance 
at  the  heavy  walnut  mouldings  of  her  windows. 
"  All  in  a  heap,  you  know,  and  surprised.  Or 
like  a  —  what  do  you  call  it  ?  that  part  of  a 
plane  that  runs  in  a  groove,  when  you  stop  the 
groove  up.  And  I  'm  not  used,  you  know,  Maver- 
ick, to  feeling  at  all ;  it  's  never  been  asked  of 
me  before." 

She  smiled  and  playfully  shook  her  head  ;  but 
her  young  eyes  were  perplexed  and  gently  sad. 

"  It  was  coming  to  this  cold  house,  under  the 
circumstances,"  suggested  Maverick. 

No  ;  Perley  shook  her  head  again  ;  the  house 
was  not  cold  ;  never  mind.  Was  his  cup  out  ? 
The  milk  was  cold,  at  any  rate  ;  he  must  wait 
a  minute  ;  and  so  sat  thoughtfully  silent  while 
she  touched  the  bell,  with  the  little  silver  ser- 
vice shining  against  her  shoulder  and  the  curve 
of  her  arm. 

"  What  did  you  come  down  here  for  ?  "  asked 
Maverick,  over  his  second  cup. 


4O  The  Silent  Partner. 

Parley  did  n't  know. 

"When  shall  you  go  back?" 

Perley  didn't  know  that. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

Perley  did  n't  know  that,  either.  "  Perhaps  I 
shall  not  go  back.  I  am  tired  of  town.  Per- 
haps I  shall  stay  here  and  look  after  —  things." 

"  Things  ?     For  instance  ?  " 

"  The  mills,  for  instance.  My  property,  for 
instance." 

Maverick  lazily  laughed  ;  pushing  back  his 
chair,  and  raising  the  connoisseur's  eyebrow 
again  at  the  little  shining  service,  and  the  black 
curve  of  the  womanly,  warm  arm. 

Perhaps  she  would  take  his  place  this  morn- 
ing ;  he  was  late,  now  ;  she  could  rake  over  a 
shoddy-heap,  he  was  sure,  or  scold  an  overseer. 
He  would  agree  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  order  din- 
ner, if  she  would  just  run  over  to  father's  for  him 
and  bring  him  his  slippers. 

"  I  '11  run  over  to  the  counting-room  with  you, 
and  bring  you  to  repentance,"  said  Perley  ;  "  the 
air  must  be  like  wine  this  morning,  and  the  sun 
like  heaven." 

The  air  was  so  much  like  wine  and  the  sun  like 


The  Slippery  Path.  41 

heaven,  that  Perley,  upon  leaving  the  junior  part- 
ner at  the  mill-gates,  strolled  on  by  a  path  on  the 
river's  brink  through  and  beyond  the  town,  find- 
ing herself  loath  to  go  back  and  sit  by  the  fire 
and  order  dinner  ;  the  more  so,  possibly,  because 
she  was  a  bit  annoyed  that  Maverick  should  have 
hit  with  such  exactness  her  typical  morning  ;  it 
had,  somehow,  a  useless,  silly  sound. 

A  useless,  silly  sound  in  this  town  of  Five 
Falls  was  artistically  out  of  place.  She  almost 
felt  herself  to  be  a  superfluity  in  the  cold,  crisp 
air  filled  to  the  full  with  business  noises  ;  and 
took  a  pleasure  in  following  the  river  almost  out 
of  hearing  of  the  mill  machinery,  and  quite  into 
the  frozen  silence  of  the  upper  stream. 

Though  the  stream  was  large,  the  town  was 
not ;  neither  had  the  mills,  from  that  distance,  an 
imposing  air.  Perley,  with  a  sudden  remem- 
brance of  the  size  of  her  income,  wondered  at 
this  for  the  first  time.  "  The  business  "  had  been 
a  standing  mysrery  in  the  young  lady's  careless 
fancy,  the  existence  of  which  she  had  dimly  un- 
derstood from  her  father,  as  she  had  dimly  under- 
stood the  existence  of  "  The  Blue  Plum  "  ;  per- 
haps both  had  been  about  equally  withheld  from 


42  The  Silent  Partner. 

her  comprehension.  That  there  was  some  cotton 
in  it  she  felt  sure ;  that  it  was  a  responsible  busi- 
ness and  a  profitable  business  she  understood  ; 
that  there  were  girls  in  little  shawls,  ragged  men, 
and  bad  tobacco,  an  occasional  strike,  and  a  mis- 
sion Sunday  school  connected  with  it,  she  remem- 
bered. 

Upon  the  cool  of  her  summer  rest  the  hot 
whir  of  the  thing  had  never  breathed.  Factory 
feet  had  trodden  as  lightly  as  dewdrops  upon  her 
early  dreams. 

She  put  on  Five  Falls  for  a  few  months  every 
year  as  she  put  on  a  white  dress,  —  a  cool  thing, 
which  kept  wash-people  busy. 

Five  Falls  in  July  agreed  with  her,  and  she 
fancied  it.  Five  Falls  in  February  entertained 
her,  and  she  found  it  suggestive ;  and  indeed 
Five  Falls  in  February  was  not  a  barren  sight. 

She  had  wandered,  it  might  be,  half  a  mile  up 
stream,  and  had  turned  to  look  behind  her,  just 
at  the  spot  from  which  the  five  cascades,  which 
named  the  town,  broke  into  view  ;  more  accu- 
rately, there  were  four  cascades  —  pretty,  swift, 
slender  things  —  and  the  dam.  The  stream  was 
a  deep  one,  with  a  powerful  current,  and  Perley 


The  Slippery  Path.  43 

noticed  the  unusual  strength  of  the  bridge  below 
the  dam.  It  was  a  county  bridge  and  well  built ; 
its  stone  piers,  freckled  and  fringed  with  heavy 
frost,  had  the  sombre,  opulent  air  of  time-worn 
frescos,  behind  which  arches^of  light  and  sky 
drew  breath  like  living  things,  and  palpitated  in 
time  to  the  irregular  pulse  of  the  water. 

The  pulse  of  the  water  was  sluggish,  half 
choked  by  swathings  of  beautiful  ice  ;  the  falls, 
caught  in  their  tiny  leap,  hung,  frozen  to  the  heart, 
in  mid-air;  the  open  dam,  swift,  relentless,  and 
free,  mocked  at  them  with  peals  of  hollow  laugh- 
ter ;  and  great  puffs  and  palls  of  smoke,  which 
overhung  the  distant  hum  of  the  little  town,  made 
mouths,  one  fancied,  at  the  shining  whiteness  of 
the  fields  and  river  bank. 

Miss  Kelso,  turning  to  retrace  her  steps  with 
her  face  set  thoughtfully  towards  this  sight,  was 
disturbed  by  a  quick,  loud  tread  behind  her  ;  it 
came  abreast  of  her  and  passed  her,  and,  in  so 
doing,  thrust  the  flutter  of  a  dingy  plaid  dress 
against  her  in  the  narrow  path. 

Either  some  faded  association  with  the  faded 
dress  or  with  the  energetic  tread,  or  both,  puz- 
zled Miss  Kelso,  and  she  stopped  to  consider  it 


44  The  Silent  Partner. 

Apparently  the  girl  stopped  to  consider  some- 
thing, but  without  turning  her  head.  Miss  Kelso, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  stepped  up  and 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  knew  you,"  said  the  girl  abruptly,  still  with- 
out turning  her  head.  "  I  did  n't  suppose  you'd 
know  me.  You  need  n't  unless  you  want  to." 

"I  had  forgotten  you,"  said  Perley,  frankly. 
"  But  I  remember  now.  I  remember  very  well. 
I  am  surprised  to  see  you  in  Five  Falls." 

"  You  need  n't  never  be  surprised  to  see  factory 
folks  anywhere,"  said  Sip  Garth.  "  We  're  a 
restless  set.  Wanderers  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"  Are  you  in  my  father's  —  in  the  mills  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  more  gently,  and  with  a  glance  at  Per- 
ley's  mourning,  "  in  your  mills,  I  suppose  ;  the 
brick  ones,  —  yes.  I  supposed  they  were  yours 
when  I  heard  the  names.  But  folks  told  me  you 
only  come  down  here  in  summer-time.  I  did  n't 
expect  to  see  you.  I  Ve  been  here  three 
weeks." 

"  You  like  it  here  ?  "  asked  Miss  Kelso,  some- 
what at  a  loss  how  to  pursue  the  art  of  conversa- 
tion under  what  she  found  to  be  such  original  cir- 
cumstances, —  she  and  Sip  were  walking  towards 


The. Slippery  Path.  45 

the  town  now,  in  the  widening  path,  side  by 
side. 

"  I  hope  you  like  it  here  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Catty  likes.  It  does  n't  make  much  odds  to 
me." 

"  Who  is  Catty  ?  " 

"That's  my  sister;  we're  the  last  of  us,  she 
and  I.  Father  got  smashed  up  three  weeks  ago 
last  Friday  ;  caught  in  the  gearing  by  the  arm. 
They  would  n't  let  Catty  and  me  look  at  him,  he 
was  smashed  so.  But  I  looked  when  there 
was  n't  anybody  round.  I  wanted  to  see  the  last 
of  him.  I  never  thought  much  of  father,  but  I 
wanted  to  see  the  last  of  him." 

In  her  controlled,  well-bred  way,  Perley  sick- 
ened and  shrunk  again,  as,  she  had  sickened  and 
shrunk  from  this  girl  before,  but  said  quickly,  "O, 
I  am  sorry  !  " 

"  You  need  n't  be,"  said  Sip  Garth.  "  Have  n't 
I  told  you  that  I  did  n't  think  much  of  father  ?  I 
never  did  neither." 

"  But  that  is  dreadful ! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Kelso.  "  Your  own  father !  and  now  he  is 
dead !  " 

Something  in  their  kindred  deprivation  moved 


46  The  Silent  Partner. 

Parley ;  an  emotion  more  like  sympathy  than 
recoil,  and  more  like  attraction  than  disgust, 
_ook  possession  of  her  as  they  walked  slowly 
and  more  slowly,  in  the  ever-widening  path,  side 
by  side  into  the  town. 

"  He  beat  Catty,"  said  Sip,  after  a  pause,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  He  beat  me,  but  I  did  n't  make  so 
much  of  that.  He  used  to  take  my  wages.  I 
had  to  hide  'em,  but  he  used  to  find  'em.  He 
spent  it  on  drink.  You  never  saw  a  man  get 
drunker  than  my  father  could,  Miss  Kelso." 

Miss  Kelso  presumed  that  she  never  had ; 
thinking  swiftly  how  amused  Maverick  would 
be  at  that,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Drunk  as  a  beast,"  continued  Sip,  in  an  in^ 
terested  tone,  as  if  she  were  explaining  a  prob- 
lem in  science,  —  "  drunk  as  a  fool.  Why,  so 
drunk,  he  'd  lie  on  a  rummy's  floor  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  dead  as  a  door-nail.  I  've  seen  them 
kick  him  out,  down  the  steps,  into  the  ditch,  you 
know,  when  they  could  n't  get  rid  of  him  no 
other  way.  Then  "  —  lowering  her  voice  again 
—  "then  he  came  home  and  beat  Catty." 

"  You  seem  to  be  fond  of  your  sister,"  ob- 
served Miss  Kelso. 


The  Slippery  Path.  47 

"Yes,"  said  Sip,  after  some  silence, — "yes, 
I  love  Catty." 

"  You  have  not  been  to  work  this  morning  ?  " 
asked  Parley,  for  want  of  something  better  to 
say. 

"  No,  I  asked  out  to-day.  Catty  's  sick.  I  Ve 
just  been  up  river  to  Bijah's  after  some  dock- 
weed  for  her ;  he  had  some  dock-weed,  and  he 
told  me  to  come  ;  he 's  a  well-meaning  old  chap, 
Bijah  Mudge." 

Not  having  the  pleasure  of  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  Mudge,  Perley  was  perplexed  how  to 
follow  the  topic,  and  did  not  try. 

-'  I  suppose  you  think  I  was  saucy  to  you," 
said  Sip,  suddenly,  "  in  the  Opera  House,  I  mean. 
I  did  n't  expect  you  'd  ever  notice  me  again." 

"  You  '  put  it  to  me  honest,'  certainly,"  said 
Miss  Kelso,  smiling.  "  But  though,  of  course,  you 
were  quite  mistaken,  I  did  not  think,  as  far  as 
I  thought  at  all  about  it,  that  you  meant  to  be 
impertinent.  The  Opera  question,  Sip,  is  one 
which  it  takes  a  cultivated  lover  of  music  to 
understand." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Sip  with  a  puzzled  face. 
.    "  Poetry,  fiction,  art,  all  are  open  to  the  sam« 


48  The  Siknt  Partner. 

objections  which  you  found  to  Giovanni.  People 
are  affected  by  these  things  very  differently. 
Superior  music  is  purity  itself ;  it  clears  the  air ; 
and  only  —  " 

Miss  Kelso  remembered  suddenly  that  she  was 
talking  to  an  ignorant  factory-girl ;  a  girl  who 
went  to  the  Blue  Plum,  and  had  never  heard  of 
Mozart ;  wondered  how  she.  could  have  made 
such  a  blunder;  collected  her  scattered  pearls 
into  a  hasty  change  of  subject,  —  something  about 
the  cold  weather  and  mill-hours  and  Catty. 

"  Catty  's  deaf,"  said  Sip  again  in  her  sudden 
way,  after  they  had  walked  in  silence  for  a  few 
moments  down  the  shining,  slippery,  broadening 
way.  She  lifted  her  little  brown  face  sidewise  to 
Perley's  abstracted  one,  to  watch  the  effect  of 
this  ;  hesitating,  it  seemed,  whether  it  were  worth 
while  to  bestow  some  lingering  confidence  upon 
her. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Perley  ;  "  poor  thing  !  "' 

The  little  brown  face  fell,  and  with  it  fell  an- 
other pause.  It  had  been  a  thoughtful  pause  for 
Miss  Kelso,  and  she  broke  it  in  a  thoughtful  voice. 

"  Can  you  stop  with  your  dock-weed  long 
enough  to  sit  down  here  a  minute  ?  It  is 


The  Slippery  Path.  49 

warm  in  the  sun  just  here  on  these  rocks,  and 
we  are  so  close  to  town ;  and  I  want  you  to  talk 
to  me."  • 

"  I  have  n't  got  anything  to  say  to  you,"  said 
Sip  a  little  sullenly,  sitting  down,  however,  upon 
a  broad,  dry  rock,  and  spreading  her  hands, 
which  were  bare  and  purple,  out  upon  her  lap 
in  the  sun. 

"  Don't  you  earn  enough  to  buy  you  gloves  ? " 
asked  Miss  Kelso. 

"Catty  had  my  gloves,"  said  Sip,  evasively. 
"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  I  can't  stay  long." 

"Why,  I  hardly  know,"  said  Perley,  slowly. 
"I  want  you  to  talk  without  being  questioned. 
I  don't  like  to  question  you  all  the  time.  But  I 
want  to  hear  more  about  you,  and  —  you  did  n't 
speak  of  your  mother ;  and  where  you  live,  and 
how  ;  and  many  other  things.  I  am  not  used  to 
people  who  live  as  you  do.  I  presume  I  do  not 
understand  how  to  treat  you.  I  do  not  think  it 
is  curiosity.  I  think  it  is  —  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is.  I  suppose  I  am  sorry." 

"  You  need  n't  trouble  yourself  to  be  sorry,  as 
I  've  said  before,"  replied  Sip,  chafing  her  purple 
fingers.  "  Besides,  I  have  n't  much  to  tell. 

*  D 


50  The  Silent  Partner. 

There  's  folks  in  your  mills  has  enough  to  tell, 
that  would  make  stories  in  newspapers,  I  bet 
you  !  Foreigners  mostly.  If  you  want  stories 
to  amuse  you,  you  've  come  to  the  wrong  place. 
I  'm  a  Yankee,  and  my  mother  was  a  Yankee. 
Father  was  n't ;  but  I  don't  know  what  he  was, 
and  I  don't  believe  he  knew  himself.  There  's 
been  six  of  us,  put  together ;  the  rest  died, 
babies  mostly,  of  drink  and  abuse.  I  wish 
Catty  and  me  'd  been  two  of  'em  !  Well,  mother 
she  died  with  one  of  'em  four  years  ago  (it  was 
born  of  a  Tuesday,  and  Thursday  morning  she 
was  to  work,  and  Saturday  noon  she  was  dead), 
and  father  he  died  of  the  gearing,  and  Catty  and 
me  moved  here  where  there  was  easy  work  for 
Catty.  We  was  in  a  hoop-skirt  factory  before,  at 
Waltham  ;  I  used  to  come  in  nights  to  the  Blue 
Plum,  as  you  see  me  in  your  carriage.  I  guess 
that 's  all.  I  Ve  worked  to  cotton-mills  before 
the  hoops  ;  so  they  put  me  right  to  weaving.  I 
told  you  we  're  a  restless  lot.  But  we  're  always 
/  at  factory  jobs  someways,  from  father  to  son  and 
•^.mother  to  daughter.  It's  in  the  blood.  But  I 
guess  that 's  all. 

"  You  have  good  prompt  pay,"  said  Miss  Kelso, 


The  Slippery  Path.  51 

properly.  "  I  suppose  that  you  could  not  have 
a  better  or  healthier  occupation.  You  get  so 
much  exercise  and  air." 

She  had  heard  her  father  say  this,  in  times 
long  past. 

Sip  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  suppressed 
laugh  ;  the  unmistakable,  incorrigible,  suppressed 
laugh  of  "  discontented  labor,"  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  sister  Catty,"  said 
Perley,  obliged  to  reintroduce  conversation. 

"  We  're  on  the  Company  board.  You  can 
come  when  she  gets  well." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  deaf?" 

"  It  may  not  please  you  to  hear,"  said  Sip, 
reluctantly. 

Miss  Kelso  was  sure  that  it  would  not  displease 
her  to  hear. 

"  Well,  they  were  running  extra  time,"  said 
Sip,  "  in  the  town  where  we  was  at  work  be- 
fore Catty  was  born.  They  were  running  four- 
teen hours  a  day.  Mother  she  was  at  work, 
you  know.  There  was  no  two  ways  to  that'. 
Father  was  on  a  spree,  and  we  children  were 
little  shavers,  earning  next  to  nothing.  She 
begged  off  from  the  extra ;  but  it  was  all,  or 


52  The  Silent  Partner. 

quit ;  it 's  always  all  or  quit.  Quit  she  could  n't. 
I  '11  say  this  for  Jack  Bench,  —  he  was  our  boss, 
—  Jack,  he  had  n't  got  it  through  his  head  what 
condition  she  was  in.  But  she  worked  till  a 
Saturday  night,  and  Catty  was  born  on  a  Mon- 
day morning.  Father  came  off  his  drunk  Sun- 
day, and  Jack  Bench  he  always  laid  it  on  to 
that ;  but  Catty  was  born  deaf.  Father  did 
fly  round  pretty  well  that  Sunday  night,  and 
maybe  it  helped.  But  he  didn't  strike  mother. 
I  was  round  all  day  to  see  to  it  that  he  should 
n't  strike.  But  Catty  was  born  deaf — and," 
half  under  her  breath,  "  and  —  queer,  and  dumb, 
you  know  ;  but  I  Ve  taught  her  a  little  talk. 
She  talks  on  her  fingers.  Sometimes  she  makes 
sounds  in  her  throat.  But  I  can  always  under- 
stand Catty.  Poor  Catty  !  It 's  never  her  fault, 
but  she  's  a  world  of  care  and  wear." 

"But  such  things,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  rising 
with  a  shocked  face  from  the  sunny  stone,  "  do 
not  often  happen  in  our  New  England  fac- 
tories !  " 

"  I  only  know  what  I  know,"  said  Sip,  shortly  ; 
"  I  did  n't  blame  anybody.  I  never  knew  any 
other  woman  as  it  turned  out  so  bad  to.  They 


The  Slippery  Path.  53 

're  mostly  particular  about  women  in  that  state  ; 
fact  is,  they  're  mostly  more  particular  than  the 
women  themselves.  I  Ve  seen  a  boss  threaten 
a  woman  with  her  notice  to  get  her  home,  and 
she  would  n't  stir.  But  it  's  all  or  quit,  in 
general." 

"  But  these  people  cannot  be  in  such  need  of 
money  as  that ! "  said  Perley. 

"  Folks  don't  do  such  things  for  fun,"  said 
Sip,  still  shortly. 

"But  in  our  mills — " 

"  Your  own  mills  are  your  own  affairs,"  inter- 
rupted Sip.  "  You  'd  better  find  out  for  yourself.    V 
It  ain't  to  complain  to  you  that  I  talk  to  you." 

They  had  come  now  quite  into  the  town,  and 
stopped,  at  the  parting  of  their  several  ways. 
Miss  Kelso  held  out  her  hand  to  the  girl,  with 
a  troubled  face.  The  mills  were  making  a 
great  noise  and  confused  her,  and  she  felt  that 
it  was  of  little  use  to  say  anything  further  than 
that  she  should  try  to  come  and  see  Catty,  and 
that  she  thanked  her  for  —  but  she  was  sure  that 
she  did  not  know  for  what,  and  so  left  the  sen- 
tence unfinished,  and  bade  her  good  morning 
instead. 


54  The  Silent  Partner. 

Sip  Garth  stood  still  in  a  snow-drift,  and 
rubbed  her  hands,  which  had  grown  pink  and 
warm.  Her  brown  little  face  was  puzzled. 

"  It  was  n't  all  the  sun,  nor  yet  the  touch. 
It  was  the  newness,  I  think,"  she  said. 

She  said  it  again  to  Catty,  when  she  got  home 
with  the  dock-weed. 

"  Eh  ! "  said  Catty.  She  made  a  little  harsh 
sound  like  a  croak. 

"  O,  no  matter,"  said  Sip,  talking  upon  her 
fingers,  "  you  could  n't  understand  !  But  I  think 
it  must  have  been  the  newness." 


A   Game  of  Chess.  55 


CHAPTER    III. 

A   GAME   OF   CHESS. 

"  T    BEG  your  pardon  ? "  said  Maverick  Hayle. 

J-      He  said  it  in  simple  bewilderment. 

Perley  repeated  her  remark. 

"  You  wish  —  excuse  me  —  do  I  understand 
you  to  wish  —  " 

" '  Partner '  was  undoubtedly  the  word  that  she 
used,  Maverick,"  said  Mr.  Hayle  the  senior,  with 
an  amused  smile. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  partner  in  the  firm,"  reiterated 
Perley,  with  great  distinctness  ;  "  you  're  very  stu- 
pid this  morning,  Maverick,  if  you  '11  excuse  me. 
I  thought  I  had  expressed  myself  clearly.  I  want 
to  be  a  partner  in  Hayle  and  Kelso." 

They  were  sitting  —  the  two  gentlemen  and  the 
young  lady  —  around  a  table  in  Miss  Kelso's  par- 
lor :  a  little  table  which  Perley  had  cleared  to 
its  pretty  inlaid  surface,  with  some  indefinite  idea, 
which  vastly  entertained  Maverick,  of  having 


56  The  Silent  Partner. 

room  in  which  to  "conduct  business."  Some 
loose  papers,  a  new  glazed  blank-book,  and  a  little 
gold  pencil  lay  upon  the  table.  The  pattern  of 
£he  table  was  a  chess-board  of  unusual  beauty  : 
Miss  Kelso's  hand,  slightly  restless,  traced  the 
little  marble  squares,  sometimes  with  the  pencil, 
sometimes  without,  while  she  talked.  The  squares 
were  of  veined  gray  and  green. 

"  I  sent  for  you  this  morning,''  said  Perley, 
turning  to  the  elder  gentleman,  "  because  it 
seemed  to  me  quite  time  that  I  should  understand 
the  state  of  my  affairs  as  my  father's  death  has 
left  them.  I  am  very  ignorant,  of  course.  He 
never  talked  to  me  about  the  business  ;  but  I 
suppose  that  I  could  learn.  I  should  prefer  to 
learn  to  understand  my  own  affairs.  This  is  not 
inconsistent,  I  am  sure  you  will  appreciate,  with 
that  confidence  which  it  is  my  delight  to  feel  in 
you  and  Maverick." 

Maverick,  at  the  sound  of  his  own  name,  looked 
up  with  a  faint  effort  to  recall  what  had  preceded 
it,  having  plunged  suddenly  and  irretrievably  into 
the  depths  of  a  decision  that  Story,  the  next  time 
he  was  in  the  country,  should  make  a  study  of  a 
hand  upon  squares  of  gray  and  green.  In  self- 
defence  he  said  so.  • 


A   Game  of  Chess.  57 

"  Whatever  responsibilities,"  said  Perley,  with 
a  slight  twitch  of  annoyance  between  her  eyes, 
and  speaking  still  to  the  elder  gentleman,  — "  what- 
ever responsibilities  rest  upon  me,  as  sole  heir  to 
my  father's  property,  I  am  anxious  to  fulfil  in 
person.  Whatever  connection  I  have  with  the 
Hayle  and  Kelso  Mills,  I  am  anxious,  I  am  exceed- 
ingly anxious,  to  meet  in  person.  And  I  thought," 
added  the  young  lady,  innocently,  "  that  the  sim- 
plest way  would  be  for  me  to  become  a  part- 
ner." 

"  Now  I  don't  know  another  woman,"  said 
Maverick,  rousing,  with  an  indulgent  smile,  "  who 
could  have  originated  that,  father,  if  she  had  tried. 
Let  us  take  her  in.  By  all  means  take  her  in. 
As  she  says,  what  could  be  simpler  ? " 

"  Miss  Perley  will  of  course  understand  what 
would  be  in  due  time  legally  and  suitably  ex- 
plained to  her,"  observed  Mr.  Hayle,  "  that  she 
has,  and  need  have,  no  responsibilities  as  heir  to 
her  father's  property  ;  that  she  has,  and  can  have, 
no  such  connection  with  the  Hayle  and  Kelso 
Mills  as  requires  the  least  exertion  or  anxiety 
upon  her  part."  , 

"  But  I  don't  understand  at  all,"  said  Perley. 
3* 


58  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  I  thought  I  fell  heir  to  all  that,  with  the  money. 
At  least  I  thought  I  could  if  I  wished  to." 

"  But  we  're  private,  not  corporate,  don't  you 
see  ?  "  explained  Maverick,  carelessly.  "  You 
don't  fall  heir  to  a  partnership  in  a  company  as 
you  would  to  stock  in  a  corporation,  Perley. 
You  must  see  that." 

Probably  Perley  did  not  see  that  in  the  least. 
The  little  gold  pencil  traced  a  row  of  greens  and 
skipped  a  row  of  grays  in  a  sadly  puzzled,  un- 
business-like  way. 

"  You  could  not  fall  heir  to  the  partnership 
even  if  you  were  a  man,"  continued  Maverick,  in 
his  patronizing  fashion.  "  The  choice  of  a  new 
partner,  or  whether,  indeed,  there  shall  be  a  new 
partner,  is  a  matter  resting  wholly  with  the  Senior 
and  myself  to  settle.  Do  I  make  it  clear  ?  " 

"  Quite  clear,"  said  Perley,  brightening  ;  "  so 
clear,  that  I  do  not  see  anything  in  the  world  to 
prevent  your  choosing  me." 

Both  gentlemen  laughed  ;  about  as  much  as 
they  seemed  to  think  was  expected  of  them. 
Maverick  took  up  the  pencil  which  Perley  had 
laid  down,  and  jotted  green  squares  at  his  end  of 
the  table.  Perley,  at  hers,  slipped  her  empty 


A   Game  of  Chess.  59 

fingers  musingly  along  a  soft  gray  vein.  She 
was  half  vexed,  and  a  little  mortified.  For  the  | 
first  time  in  her  life,  she  was  inclined  to  feel 
ashamed  of  being  a  woman.  She  was  seriously 
interested,  —  perhaps,  again,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  seriously  interested  —  in  this  matter.  A 
faint  sense  of  degradation  at  being  so  ignorant 
that  she  could  not  command  the  respect  of  two 
men  sufficiently  to  the  bare  discussion  of  it  pos- 
sessed her. 

"  One  need  not  be  a  child  because  one  is  a 
woman  !  "  she  said,  hotly. 

"  The  case  is  just  this,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Senior,  kindly  observant  of  her  face  and  tone. 
"  Your  father  dies  "  —  this  with  a  slight,  decorous 
sadness  in  his  voice,  but  mathematically  withal,  as 
he  would  propound  a  sum  for  Perley's  solution : 
A  man  buys  a  bushel ;  or,  A  boy  sold  a  yard  — 
"your  father  dies.  Maverick  and  I  reorganize 
the  firm  in  our  own  way  :  that  is  our  affair.  You 
fall  heir  to  a  certain  share  of  interest  in  the  busi- 
ness :  that  is  your  affair.  It  is  for  you  to  say 
what  shall  be  done  with  your  own  property.  You 
are  even  quite  at  liberty  to  withdraw  it  entire 
from  the  concern,  or  you  can  leave  it  in  our 


60  The  Silent  Partner. 

hands,  which,  I  am  free  to  say,  we  should,  in  the 
existing  state  of  affairs,  prefer  —  " 

"And  expect,"  interrupted  Maverick,  pleas- 
antly, making  little  faces  on  Perley's  pink,  shell- 
like  nails  with  the  pencil. 

"  Which  we  prefer,  and  very  naturally,  under 
the  circumstances,  expect,"  continued  the  Senior. 
"  You  then  receive  certain  dividends,  which  will 
be  duly  agreed  upon,  and  have  thus  the  advan- 
tage of  at  once  investing  your  property  in  a  safe, 
profitable,  and  familiar  quarter,  and  of  feeling  no 
possible  obligation  or  responsibility  —  business 
obligation  and  responsibility  are  always  so  trying 
to  a  lady  —  about  it.  You  thus  become,  in  fact 
and  in  form,  if  you  prefer,  a  silent  partner.  In- 
deed, my  dear,"  finished  the  Senior,  cheerfully, 
"  I  do  not  see  but  this  would  meet  your  fancy 
perfectly." 

"  Especially  as  you  are  going  to  marry  into 
the  firm,"  observed  Maverick. 

"  Has  a  silent  partner  a  voice  and  vote  in  — 
questions  that  come  up  ? "  asked  Perley,  hesitat- 
ing, and  rubbing  off  the  little  faces  from  her  nails 
with  a  corner  of  her  soft  handkerchief. 

"  No,"  said  Maverick;  "  none  at  all.      An  ordi* 


A  Game  of  Chess.  61 

nary,  unprivileged  dummy,  I  mean.  If  you  have 
your  husband's,  that  's  another  matter.  A  wo- 
man's influence,  you  know  ;  you  've  heard  of  it. 
What  could  be  more  suitable  ?  " 

"  Then,  if  I  understand,"  said  Perley,  "  I  invest 
my  property  in  your  mills.  You  call  me  a  silent 
partner,  to  please  me  and  to  stop  my  asking 
questions.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  mills 
or  the  people.  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  spend 
the  money  and  let  you  manage  it.  That 's  all  it 
amounts  to." 

"  That 's  all,"  said  Maverick. 

Perley 's  light  finger  and  the  Junior's  pencil 
skirmished  across  the  chess-table  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  silence ;  the  finger  from  gray  to  gray  ; 
the  pencil  on  green  and  green  ;  the  finger,  by 
chance,  it  seemed,  pursuing;  the  pencil,  uncon- 
sciously, it  seemed,  retreating,  as  if  pencil-mark 
and  finger-touch  had  been  in  the  first  idle  stages 
of  a  long  game. 

"  Who  will  go  into  the  firm  if  I  can't  ?  "  asked 
Perley,  suddenly. 

*  "  Father  talks  of  our  confidential  clerk,"  said 
Maverick,  languidly,  "  a  fellow  we  've  promoted 
from  East  Street,  but  smart.  Smart  as  a  trap. 


62  The  Silent  Partner. 

Garrick  by  name.  You  've  seen  him,  perhaps,  — 
Stephen  Garrick.  But  nothing  is  settled  ;  and 
this  is  submitted,"  bowing,  "  to  the  close  confi- 
dence of  our  silent  partner." 

Perley  did  not  seem  to  be  in  a  mood  for  gallan- 
try ;  did  not  smile,  but  only  knitted  her  soft  brows. 

"  Still,  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  anything  to 
prevent  my  becoming  an  active  partner.  There 
is  nothing  the  matter  with  the  law,  I  suppose, 
which  forbids  a  woman  becoming  an  active  part- 
ner in  anything  ? " 

Maverick  assured  her  that  there  was  nothing 
the  matter  with  the  law  ;  that  the  matter  was 
entirely  with  the  existing  firm.  Excepting,  in- 
deed, some  technicality,  about  which  he  could 
not,  at  the  moment,  be  precise,  which,  he  be- 
lieved, would  make  formal  partnerships  impos- 
sible in  the  case  of  husband  and  wife. 

"  But  that  case  we  are  not  considering,"  said 
Perley,  quickly.  "  That  case  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  consider  when  it  occurs.  As  long  as 
I  am  unmarried  and  independent,  Maverick,  I 
am  very  much  in  earnest  in  my  wish  to  manage 
my  mills  myself.  I  do  not  like  to  think  that  a 
great  many  people  may  be  affected  by  the  use 


A  Game  of  Chess.  63 

of  my  property  in  ways  over  which  I  can  have  no 
possible  control.  Of  course,  I  don't  know  what 
else  to  do  with  my  money,  and  if  it  must  be,  it 
must  be,"  —  Perley  noticed  with  some  wonder 
here  an  amused  glance  between  father  and  son. 
"  But  I  shall  be  very  much  disappointed  ;  and 
I  am  much,  I  am  very  much,  in  earnest." 

"  I  verily  believe  she  is,"  said  Maverick,  with 
sudden  conviction.  "  Now,  I  admire  that !  It 
is  ingenuous  and  refreshing." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  take  my  part,  Maverick, 
instead  of  laughing  at  me  ? "  asked  Perley,  and 
was  vexed  at  herself  for  asking  immediately. 

"  O,  that,"  said  Maverick,  "  is  another  matter. 
I  may  find  myself  entertained  to  the  last  degree 
by  the  piquancy,  originality,  esprit,  of  a  lady, 
when  I  may  be  the  last  man  upon  earth  to  con- 
sent to  going  info  business  with  my  wife.  Seri- 
ously, Perley,"  for  Perley  did  not  bear  this  well, 
"  I  don't  see  what  has  given  you  this  kink,  nor 
why  you  have  become  so  suddenly  reluctant  to 
intrust  the  management  of  your  property  to  me." 

"  It  is  not  my  property,"  said  Perley,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  which  I  am  reluctant  to  intrust  to  you." 

"  What,  then,  may  it  be  ?  " 


64  The  Silent  Partner. 

"My  people, —  the  people.  Perhaps  I  have 
thought  of  them  suddenly.  But  it  may  be  better- 
to  remember  a  thing  suddenly  than  never  to 
remember  it  at  all." 

"  People !  O,  the  hands,  the  mill-people. 
A  little  Quixotic  fancy  there.  Yes,  I  under- 
stand now ;  and  very  pretty  and  feminine  it  is 
too.  My  dear  Perley,  you  may  set  your  kind 
heart  at  rest  about  the  mill-people,  —  a  well- 
paid,  well-cared-for,  happy  set  of  laboring  people 
as  you  could  ask  to  see.  You  can  go  down  into 
our  mission  school  and  take  a  class,  if  that  is 
what  you  are  troubled  about." 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  withdraw  my  share  of  the 
business,"  suggested  Perley,  abruptly.  "  Suppose, 
ijpon  being  refused  this  partnership  for  which  \ 
have  asked  this  morning,  I  should  prefer  to  with- 
draw my  interest  in  the  mills  ? " 

"  We  should  regret  it,"  said  Mr.  Hayle,  cour- 
teously ;  "  but  we  should  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  make  the  best  of  circumstances." 

"  I  see,  I  see  now !  "  Perley  flushed  as  the  eyes 
of  the  two  gentlemen  met  again  and  again  with 
suppressed  amusement  in  them.  "  I  ought  to  have 
said  that  before  I  told  you  that  I  did  n't  know 


A  Game  of  Chess.  65 

what  else  to  do  with  the  money.  Of  course ! 
I  see,  I  Ve  made  a  bad  business  blunder.  I  see 
that  you  think  I  should  always  make  bad  busi- 
ness blunders.  Now,  Maverick  Hayle,  I  don't 
believe  I  should  ! " 

"My  dear  Perley,"  said  Maverick,  wearily, 
"just  listen  to  reason  for  reason's  sake.  A 
lady's  patience  and  a  gentleman's  time  are  too 
valuable  to  throw  away  at  this  rate.  Even  if 
you  possessed  any  other  qualification,  which  you 
do  not,  or  all  other  qualifications,  which  you  can- 
not, for  this  ridiculous  partnership,  you  lack  an 
absolutely  essential  one,  —  the  acquaintance  of 
years  with  the  business.  Just  reflect  upon  your 
acquaintance  with  the  business  !  " 

"  I  will  acquire  an  acquaintance  of  years  with 
the  business,"  said  Perley,  firmly. 

"  Begin  at  the  spools,  for  example  ? " 

"  I  will  begin  at  the  spools." 

"  Or  inspect  the  cotton  ?  " 

"  Or  inspect  the  cotton." 

"  Wear  a  calico  dress,  and  keep  the  books 
in  a  dingy  office  ?  " 

"  Wear  a  dozen  calico  dresses,  and  keep  books 
in  the  dingiest  office  you  have.  I  repeat,  I  am  in 


66  The  Silent  Partner. 

earnest.  I  ask  for  the  vacant  partnership,  or 
a  chance  to  fit  myself  for  a  partnership,  in  Hayle 
and  Kelso.  Whatever  my  disqualifications,  I  am 
ready  to  remove  them,  any  and  all.  If  you  refuse 
it  to  me,  while  I  suppose  we  shall  all  go  on  and 
be  very  good-natured  about  it,  I  shall  feel  that 
you  refuse  it  to  me  because  I  am  a  young  lady, 
not  because  I  do  not  stand  ready  to  remove  a 
young  lady's  disqualifications." 

"  Really,  Perley,  this  is  becoming  absurd,  and 
the  morning  is  half  gone.  If  you  won't  take  a 
gallant  dismissal  of  a  foolish  subject,  then  I  do 
refuse  it  to  you  because  you  are  a  young  lady." 

"  We  must  refuse  it  to  you  certainly,  on  what- 
ever grounds,"  remarked  the  Senior,  with  polite- 
ness, "  however  unpleasant  it  may  be  to  refuse 
you  even  the  gratification  of  an  eccentric  fancy." 

Perley's  pursuing  finger  on  the  little  gray 
squares  thoughtfully  traced  the  course  of  Mav- 
erick's retreating  pencil  on  the  green.  Pencil- 
mark  and  finger-touch  played  faster  now,  as  if  in 
the  nervous  stages  of  a  shortening  game. 

"  What  do  you  do,"  asked  the  young  lady,  irrel- 
evantly, and  still  with  her  light  fingers  thought- 
fully tracking  the  chess-board,  and  still  watching 


A   Game  of  Chess.  67 

the  little  gold  pencil,  which  still  retreated  before 
it,  "  in  your  mills,  when  you  have  occasion  to  run 
extra  time  ? " 

"  Run  it,"  said  Maverick,  laconically. 

"  But  what  do  you  do  with  the  people,  —  the 
operatives,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Pay  them  extra." 

"  But  they  are  not  obliged,  unless  they  desire, 
to  work  more  than  eleven  hours  a  day  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Junior,  nonchalantly  ;  "  they 
can  leave  if  they  prefer." 

Perley's  face,  bent  over  the  squares  of  gray  and 
green,  changed  color  slightly.  She  would  have 
spoken,  it  seemed,  but  thought  better  of  it,  and 
only  played  with  her  thoughtful  finger  silently 
along  the  board. 

"  Your  remark  will  leave  an  unfortunate  im- 
pression upon  the  young  lady,  my  son,"  observed 
the  elder  Mr.  Hayle,  "  unless  you  explain  to  her 
that  in  times  of  pressure  it  would  be  no  more 
possible  for  a  mill  to  thin  out  its  hands  in  extra 
hours  than  it  would  be  for  her  to  dismiss  her 
cook  when  she  has  a  houseful  of  company.  The 
state  of  the  market  is  an  inexorable  fact,  an  in- 
ex-orable  fact,  Miss  Perley,  before  which  em- 


68  The  Silent  Partner. 

ployer  and  employ^  whose  interests,  of  course, 
are  one,  have  little  liberty  of  choice.  The 
wants  of  the  market  must  be  met.  In  fast  times, 
we  are  all  compelled  to  work  pretty  hard.  In 
dull  times,  we  rest  and  make  up  for  it.  I  can 
assure  you  that  we  have  almost  universally  found 
our  hands  willing  and  anxious  to  run  an  extra 
hour  or  so  for  the  sake  of  extra  pay." 

"  How  long  a  day's  work  has  the  state  of  the 
market  ever  required  of  your  mills  ?  "  asked 
Perley,  still  with  her  head  bent  and  her  finger 
moving. 

"  Perhaps  thirteen  hours  and  a  half.  We  ran 
thirteen  hours  and  a  half  for  a  week  last  July, 
was  n't  it,  Maverick  ? " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  talking  business  to  a  wo- 
man ? "  said  Maverick,  with  such  unusual  anima- 
tion that  he  said  it  almost  impatiently. 

"  I  understand  then,"  said  Perley,  with  the  same 
abruptness  which  had  characterized  her  words  so 
often  that  morning,  "  that  my  application  to  look 
after  my  mills  in  an  official  capacity  is  refused  ?  " 

"  Is  refused." 

"  In  any  official  capacity  ?  " 

"  In  any  official  capacity." 


A   Game  of  Chess.  69 

"  But  that,"  with  a  faint  smile,  "  of  silent  part- 
ner." 

"  But  that,"  with  a  bow,  "  of  silent  partner." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  to  gratify  me  in  this 
respect  ? "  pursued  Perley,  with  her  bent  head 
inclined  a  little  to  the  Senior. 

"  Quite  impossible,"  replied  the  Junior. 

"  So,  out  of  the  question." 

"  And  so,  out  of  the  question." 

The  finger-touch  brought  the  pencil-mark  ab- 
ruptly to  a  stop  upon  a  helpless  square  of  green. 

"  Checkmate  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  smiling. 

"  Checkmate,"  said  the  young  lady,  smiling 
too. 

She  closed  the  pencil-case  with  a  snap,  tossed 
the  little  glazed  blank-book  into  the  fire,  and  rang 
for  luncheon,  which  the  three  ate  upon  the  chess- 
table,  —  smiling. 


70  The  Silent  Partner. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  STONE  HOUSE. 

T  F  you  are  one  of  "  the  hands  "  in  the  Hayle  and 
•*•  Kelso  Mills,  you  go  to  your  work,  as  is  well 
known,  from  the  hour  of  half  past  six  to  seven, 
according  to  the  turn  of  the  season.  Time  has 
been  when  you  went  at  half  past  four.  The 
Senior  forgot  this  the  other  day  in  a  little  talk 
which  he  had  with  his  silent  partner,  —  very  natu- 
rally, the  time  having  been  so  long  past  ;  but  the 
time  has  been,  is  now,  indeed,  yet  in  places.  Mr. 
Hayle  can  tell  you  of  mills  he  saw  in  New 
Hampshire  last  vacation,  where  they  ring  them 
up,  if  you  vll  believe  it,  winter  and  summer,  in 
and  out,  at  half  past  four  in  the  morning.  O  no, 
never  let  out  before  six,  of  course.  Mr.  Hayle 
disapproves  of  this.  Mr.  Hayle  thinks  it  not 
humane.  Mr.  Hayle  is  confident  that  you  would 
find  no  mission  Sunday  school  connected  with 
that  concern. 


The  Stone  House.  71 

If  you  are  one  of  "  the  hands "  in  the  Hayle 
and  Kelso  Mills  —  and  again,  in  Hayle  and  Kelso, 
—  you  are  so  dully  used  to  this  classification,  "  the 
hands,"  that  you  were  never  known  to  cultivate 
an  objection  to  it,  are  scarcely  found  to  notice  its 
use  or  disuse.  Being  surely  neither  head  nor 
heart,  what  else  remains  ?  Conscious  scarcely, 
from  bell  to  bell,  from  sleep  to  sleep,  from  day  to 
dark,  of  either  head  or  heart,  there  seems  even  a 
singular  appropriateness  in  the  chance  of  the 
word  with  which  you  are  dimly  struck.  Hayle 
and  Kelso  label  you.  There  you  are.  The  world 
thinks,  aspires,  creates,  enjoys.  There  you  are. 
You  are  the  fingers  of  the  world.  You  take  your 
patient  place.  The  world  may  have  need  of  you, 
but  only  that  it  may  think,  aspire,  create,  enjoy. 
It  needs  your  patience  as  well  as  your  place. 
You  take  both,  and  you  are  used  to  both,  and  the 
world  is  used  to  both,  and  so,  having  put  the  label 
on  for  safety's  sake,  lest  you  be  mistaken  for  a 
thinking,  aspiring,  creating,  enjoying  compound, 
and  so  some  one  be  poisoned,  shoves  you  into 
your  place  upon  its  shelf,  and  shuts  its  cupboard 
door  upon  you. 

If  you  are  one  of  "  the  hands/'  then,  in  Hayle 


72  The  Silent  Partner. 

and  Kelso,  you  have  a  breakfast  of  bread  and 
molasses  probably  ;  you  are  apt  to  eat  it  while 
you  dress  ;  somebody  is  heating  the  kettle,  but  you 
cannot  wait  for  it ;  somebody  tells  you  that  you 
have  forgotten  your  shawl,  you  throw  it  over  one 
shoulder,  and  step  out,  before  it  is  fastened,  into 
the  sudden  raw  air  ;  you  left  lamp-light  in-doors  ; 
you  find  moonlight  without  ;  the  night  seems  to 
have  overslept  itself ;  you  have  a  fancy  for  try- 
ing to  wake  it,  would  like  to  shout  at  it  or  cry 
through  it,  but  feel  very  cold,  and  leave  that  for 
the  bells  to  do  by  and  by.  You  and  the  bells  are 
the  only  waking  things  in  life.  The  great  brain 
of  the  world  is  in  serene  repose.  The  great  heart 
of  the  world  lies  warm  to  the  core  with  dreams. 
The  great  hands  of  the  world,  the  patient,  per- 
plexed, one  almost  fancies  at  times,  just  for  the 
fancy,  seeing  you  here  by  the  morning  moon,  the 
dangerous  hands,  alone  are  stirring  in  the  dark. 

You  hang  up  your  shawl  and  your  crinoline, 
and  understand,  as  you  go  shivering  by  gaslight 
to  your  looms,  that  you  are  chilled  to  the  heart, 
and  that  you  were  careless  about  your  shawl,  but 
do  not  consider  carefulness  worth  your  while  by 
nature  or  by  habit ;  a  little  less  shawl  means  a 


The  Stone  House.  73 

few  less  winters  in  which  to  require  shawling. 
You  are  a  godless  little  creature,  but  you  cherish 
a  stolid  leaning,  in  these  morning  moons,  towards 
making  an  experiment  of  death  and  a  wadded 
coffin. 

By  the  time  that  gas  is  out,  you  cease,  perhaps, 
though  you  cannot  depend  upon  that,  to  shiver, 
and  incline  less  and  less  to  the  wadded  coffin,  and 
more  to  a  chat  with  your  neighbor  in  the  alley. 
Your  neighbor  is  of  either  sex  and  any  descrip- 
tion, as  the  case  may  be.  In  any  event,  warm- 
ing a  little  with  the  warming  day,  you  incline 
more  and  more  to  chat,  If  you  chance  to  be  a 
cotton -weaver,  you  are  presently  warm  enough. 
(It  is  quite  warm  enough  in  the  weaving-room. 
The  engines  respire  into  the  weaving-room  ;  with 
every  throb  of  their  huge  lungs  you  swallow 
their  breath.  The  weaving-room  stifles  with 
steam.  The  window-sills  of  this  room  are  gut- 
tered to  prevent  the  condensed  steam  from  run- 
ning in  streams  along  the  floor  ;  sometimes  they 
overflow,  and  water  stands  under  the  looms  ;  the 
walls  perspire  profusely  ;  on  a  damp  day,  drops 
will  fall  from  the  roof. 

The  windows  of  the  weaving-room  are  closed  ; 
4 


74  The  Silent  Partner. 

the  windows  must  be  closed  ;  a  stir  in  the  air 
will  break  your  threads.  There  is  no  air  to  stir. 
You  inhale  for  a  substitute  motionless,  hot  moist- 
ure. If  you  chance  to  be  a  cotton-weaver,  it  is 
not  in  March  that  you  think  most  about  your 
coffin. 

Being  "  a  hand  "  in  Hayle  and  Kelso,  you  are 
used  to  eating  cold  luncheon  in  the  cold  at  noon, 
or  you  walk,  for  the  sake  of  a  cup  of  soup  or 
coffee,  half  a  mile,  three  quarters,  a  mile  and  a 
half,  and  back.  You  are  allowed  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  in  which  to  do  this.  You  come  and 
go  upon  the  jog-trot 

You  grow  moody,  being  "  a  hand  "  at  Hayle 
and  Kelso's,  with  the  growing  day ;  are  inclined 
to  quarrel  or  to  confidence  with  your  neighbor  in 
the  alley ;  find  the  overseer  out  of  temper,  and 
the  cotton  full  of  flaws ;  find  pains  in  your  feet, 
your  back,  your  eyes,  your  arms  ;  feel  damp  and 
sticky  lint  in  your  hair,  your  neck,  your  ears, 
your  throat,  your  lungs  ;  discover  a  monotony 
in  the  process  of  breathing  hot  moisture,  lower 
your  window  at  your  risk ;  are  bidden  by  some- 
body whose  threads  you  have  broken  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  to  put  it  up,  and  put  it  up ; 


The  Stone  House.  75 

are  conscious  that  your  head  swims,  your  eye- 
balls burn,  your  breath  quickens ;  yield  your 
preference  for  a  wadded  coffin,  and  consider 
whether  the  river  would  not  be  the  comfortable 
thing  ;  cough  a  little,  cough  a  great  deal,  lose 
your  balance  in  a  coughing  fit,  snap  a  thread, 
and  take  to  swearing  roundly. 

From  swearing  you  take  to  singing;  both 
perhaps  are  equal  relief,  active  and  diverting. 
There  is  something  curious  about  that  singing 
of  yours.  The  time,  the  place,  the  singers, 
characterize  it  sharply,  —  the  waning  light,  the 
rival  din,  the  girls  with  tired  faces.  You  start 
some  little  thing  With  a  refrain  and  a  ring  to  it ; 
a  hymn,  it  is  not  unlikely  ;  something  of  a  River 
and  of  Waiting,  and  of  Toil  and  Rest,  or  Sleep, 
or  Crowns,  or  Harps,  or  Home,  or  Green  Fields,  or 
Flowers,  or  Sorrow,  or  Repose,  or  a  dozen  things, 
but  always,  it  will  be  noticed,  of  simple,  spot- 
less things,  such  as  will  surprise  the  listener  who 
caught  you  at  your  oath  of  five  minutes  past. 
You  have  other  songs,  neither  simple  nor  spot- 
less, it  may  be  ;  but  you  never  sing  them  at  your 
work,  when  the  waning  day  is  crawling  out  from 
spots  between  your  looms,  and  the  girls  lift  up 


76  The  Silent  Partner. 

their  tired  faces  to  catch  and  keep  the  chorus  in 
the  rival  din. 

You  like  to  watch  the  contest  between  the 
chorus  and  the  din  ;  to  see  —  you  seem  almost  to 
see  —  the  struggle  of  the  melody  from  alley  to 
alley,  from  loom  to  loom,  from  darkening  wall 
to  darkening  wall,  from  lifted  face  to  lifted  face  ; 
to  see  —  for  you  are  very  sure  you  see  —  the 
machinery  fall  into  a  fit  of  rage.  That  is  a  sight ! 
You  would  never  guess,  unless  you  had  watched 
it  just  as  many  times  as  you  have,  how  that  ma- 
chinery will  rage.  How  it  throws  its  arms  about, 
what  fists  it  can  clench,  how  it  shakes  at  the 
elbows  and  knees,  what  teeth  it  knows  how  to 
gnash,  how  it  writhes  and  roars,  how  it  clutches 
at  the  leaky,  strangling  gas-lights,  and  how  it 
bends  its  impotent  black  head,  always,  at  last, 
without  fail,  and  your  song  sweeps  triumphant, 
like  an  angel,  over  it !  With  this  you  are  very 
much  pleased,  though  only  "  a  hand,"  to  be  sure, 
in  Hayle  and  Kelso. 

You  are  singing  when  the  bell  strikes,  and 
singing  still  when  you  clatter  down  the  stairs. 
Something  of  the  simple  spotlessness  of  the 
little  song  is  on  your  face,  when  you  dip  into 


The  Stone  House.  77 

the  wind  and  dusk.  Perhaps  you  have  only 
pinned  your  shawl,  or  pulled  your  hat  over  your 
face,  or  knocked  against  a  stranger  on  the  walk  ; 
but  it  passes  ;  it  passes  and  is  gone.  It  is  cold 
and  you  tremble,  direct  from  the  morbid  heat  in 
which  you  have  stood  all  day  ;  or  you  have  been 
cold  all  day,  and  it  is  colder,  and  you  shrink  ;  or 
you  are  from  the  weaving-room,  and  the  wind 
strikes  you  faint,  or  you  stop  to  cough  and  the 
girls  go  on  without  you.  The  town  is  lighted, 
and  people  are  out  in  their  best  clothes.  You 
pull  your  dingy  veil  about  your  eyes.  You  are 
weak  and  heart-sick  all  at  once.  You  don't 
care  to  go  home  to  supper.  The  pretty  song 
creeps,  wounded,  back  for  the  engines  in  the 
deserted  dark  to  crunch  You  are  a  miserable 
little  factory-girl  with  a  dirty  face. 

A  broken  chatter  falls  in  pieces  about  you  ; 
all  the  melody  of  the  voices  that  you  hear  has 
vanished  with  the  vanquished  song  ;  they  are 
hoarse  and  rough. 

"  Goin'  to  the  dance  to-night,  Bet  ?  " 
"  Nynee  Mell !  yer  alway  speerin'  awa'  after 
some  young  mon.      Can't  yer  keep  yer   een  at 
home  like  a  decint  lassie  ? " 


78  The  Silent  Partner. 

"An*  who  gave  you  lave  to  hoult  a  body's 
hand  onasked  an'  onrequested,  Pathrick  Donna- 
von  ? " 

"  Sip  Garth,  give  us  '  Champagne  Charley  '  ; 
can't  you  ? " 

"  Do  you  think  the  mules  will  strike  ? " 

"  More  mules  they,  if  they  do.  Did  ye  never 
see  a  mouse  strike  a  cat  ?  " 

"  There 's  Bub  beggin'  tobacco  yet !  How  old 
is  that  little  devil  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  knows  ! " 

"  Pity  the  Lord  don't  know  a  few  more 
things  as  one  would  suppose  might  fall  in  his 
line." 

"A  tract?" 

"  A  tract.  Bless  you,  four  pages  long.  Says 

I,  What  in 's  this  ?  for  I  was  just  going  in 

to  the  meetin'  to  see  the  fun.  So  he  stuffs  it 
into  my  hand,  and  I  clears  out." 

"  Sip,  I  say !     Priscilla  !     Sip  Garth  —  " 

But  Sip  Garth  breaks  out  of  sight  as  the 
chatter  breaks  out  of  hearing  ;  turns  a  corner ; 
turns  another;  walks  wearily  fast,  and  wearily 
faster  ;  pushes  her  stout  way  through  a  dirty 
street  and  a  dirtier  street ;  stops  at  shadowy 


The  Stone  House.  79 

corners  to  look  for  something  which  she  does 
not  find  ;  stops  at  lighted  doors  to  call  for 
something  that  does  not  answer;  hesitates  a 
moment  at  the  dismal  gate  of  a  dismal  little 
stone  house  by  the  water,  and,  hesitating  still 
and  with  a  heavy  sigh,  goes  in. 

It  is  a  damp  house,  and  she  rents  the  damp- 
est room  in  it ;  a  tenement  boasting  of  the 
width  of  the  house,  and  a  closet  bedroom  with 
a  little  cupboard  window  in  it;  a  low  room 
with  cellar  smells  and  river  smells  about  it,  and 
with  gutter  smells  and  drain  smells  and  with 
unclassified  smells  of  years  settled  and  settling 
in  its  walls  and  ceiling.  Never  a  cheerful 
room  ;  never  by  any  means  a  cheerful  room, 
when  she  and  Catty  —  or  she  without  Catty  — • 
come  home  from  work  at  night. 

Something  has  happened  to  the  forlorn  little 
room  to-night.  Sip  stops  with  the  door-latch 
in  her  hand.  A  fire  has  happened,  and  the 
kerosene  lamp  has  happened,  and  drawn  cur- 
tains have  happened ;  and  Miss  Kelso  has  hap- 
pened, —  down  on  her  knees  on  the  bare  floor, 
with  her  kid  gloves  off,  and  a  poker  in  her 
bands. 


80  The  Silent  Partner. 

So  original  in  Parley  !  Maverick  would  say ; 
Maverick  not  being  there  to  say  it,  Perley 
spoke  for  herself,  with  the  poker  in  her  hand, 
and  still  upon  her  knees. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sip,  but  they  told  me, 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  that  you  would  be 
in  in  five  minutes,  and  the  room  was  dark  and 
so  I  took  the  liberty.  If  you  would  n't  mind 
me,  and  would  go  right  on  as  if  I  1iad  n't  come, 
I  should  take  it  very  kindly." 

"  All  right,"  said  Sip. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  meditatively 
twirling  her  poker,  "  that  that  is  the  first  fire  I 
ever  made  in  my  life.  Would  you  believe  it, 
to  look  at  it  ? " 

"  I  certainly  should  n't,"  said  Sip. 

"  And  you  're  quite  sure  that  you  would  n't 
mind  me  ? " 

"  No,  not  quite  sure.  But  if  you  '11  stay 
awhile,  I'll  find  out  and  tell  you." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  Kelso. 

"  See  how  dirty  I  am,"  said  Sip,  stopping  in 
the  full  light  on  her  way  to  the  closet  bedroom. 

"  I  had  n't  seen,"  said  Miss  Kelso  to  the 
poker. 


The  Stone  House.  81 

"  O,  well.  No  matter.  I  did  n't  know  but 
you  'd  mind." 

There  was  dust  about  Sip,  and  oil  about  her, 
and  a  consciousness  of  both  about  her,  that 
gave  her  a  more  miserable  aspect  than  either. 
In  the  full  light  she  looked  like  some  half- 
cleared  Pompeian  statue  just  dug  against  the 
face  of  day. 

"  We  can't  help  it,  you  see,"  said  poor  Sip  ; 
"mill-folks  can't.  Dust  we  are  and  to  dust  do 
we  return.  I  Ve  got  a  dreadful  sore-throat  to- 
night." 

"  Have  you  taken  cold  ?  " 

"  O  no.  I  have  it  generally.  It  comes  from 
sucking  filling  through  the  shuttle.  But  I  don't 
think  much  of  it.  There  's  girls  I  know,  weavers, 
can't  even  talk  beyond  a  whisper  ;  lost  their  voices 
some  time  ago." 

Sip  washed  and  dressed  herself  after  this  in 
silence.  She  washed  herself  in  the  sink  ;  there 
was  no  pump  to  the  sink ;  she  went  out  bare- 
headed, and  brought  water  in  from  a  well  in 
the  yard  ;  the  pail  was  heavy,  and  she  walked 
wearily,  with,  her  head  and  body  bent  to  balance 
it,  over  the  slippery  path.  She  coughed  while 


82  The  Silent  Partner. 

she  walked  and  when  she  came  in,  —  a  peculiar, 
dry,  rasping  cough,  which  Perley  learned  after- 
wards to  recognize  as  the  "  cotton-cough."  She 
washed  herself  in  a  tin  basin,  which  she  rinsed 
carefully  and  hung  up  against  the  wall.  While  she 
'was  dressing  in  the  closet  bedroom,  Perley  still 
knelt,  thoughtfully  playing  with  the  poker  beside 
the  fire. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Sip,  coming  out  pres- 
ently in  her  plaid  dress,  with  her  hair  in  a  net, 
and  speaking  as  if  she  had  not  been  interrupted, 
—  "I  don't  suppose  you  'd  ever  guess  how  much 
difference  the  dirt  makes.  I  don't  suppose  you 
ever  could.  Cotton  ain't  so  bad,  though.  Once 
I  worked  to  a  flax-mill.  That  was  dirt." 

"  What  difference  ?  " 

"  Hush ! "  said  Sip,  abruptly,  "  I  thought  I 
heard  — "  She  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
out,  raising  her  hands  against  her  eyes,  but 
came  back  with  a  disappointed  face. 

"  Catty  has  n't  come  in,"  she  said,  nervously. 
"  There  's  times  she  slips  away  from  me  ;  she 
works  in  the  Old  Stone,  and  I  can't  catch  her. 
There  's  times  she  does  n't  come  till  late.  Will 
you  stay  to  tea  ?  "  with  a  quick  change  of  voice. 


The  Stone  House.  83 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  understand  about  Catty," 
with  another. 

Sip  set  her  table  before  she  spoke  again  ;  bus- 
tled about,  growing  restless  ;  put  the  kettle  on 
and  off  the  hob  ;  broke  one  of  her  stone-china 
plates  ;  stopped  to  sweep  the  floor  a  little  and  to 
fill  her  coal-hod  ;  the  brown  tints  of  her  rugged 
little  face  turning  white  and  pinched  in  spots 
about  the  mouth. 

She  came,  presently,  and  stood  by  the  fire  by 
Miss  Kelso's  side,  'in  the  full  sweep  of  the  light. 
"Miss  Kelso,"  her  hands  folding  and  unfolding 
restlessly,  "  there 's  many  things  you  don't  under- 
stand. There  's  things  you  could ri\.  understand." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why.  I  never  did  quite  know 
why." 

"  You  may  be  right ;  you  may  be  wrong. 
How  can  you  tell  till  you  try  me  ? " 

"  How  can  I  tell  whether  I  can  skate  on  run- 
ning water  till  I  try  it  ?  —  I  wish  Catty  would 
come  ! " 

Sip  walked  to  the  window  again,  and  walked 
back  again,  and  took  a  look  at  the  teapot,  and 
cut  a  slice  or  two  of  bread. 


84  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  So  you  've  left  the  Company  board,"  ob- 
served Miss  Kelso,  quite  as  if  they  had  been 
talking  about  the  Company  board.  "  You  did  n't 
like  it  ? " 

"I  liked  well  enough." 

"  You  left  suddenly  ?  " 

"  I  left  sudden."  Sip  threw  her  bread-knife 
down,  with  an  aimless,  passionate  gesture.  "  I 
suppose  it 's  no  good  to  shy  off.  I  might  as  well 
tell  o't  first  as  last.  They  turned  us  off! " 

"  Turned  you  off  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  Catty." 

Miss  Kelso  raised  a  confused  face  from  the 
poker  and  the  fire. 

"  You  see,"  said  Sip,  "  I  told  you  there  's  things 
you  could  n't  understand.  Now  there  ain't  one 
of  my  own  kind  of  folks,  your  age,  would  n't  have 
understood  half  an  hour  ago,  and  saved  me  the 
trouble  of  telling.  Catty  's  queer,  don't  you  see  ? 
She  runs  away,  don't  you  see  ?  Sometimes  she 
drinks,  don't  you  understand  ?  Drinks  herself 
the  dead  kind.  That  ain't  so  often.  Most  times 
she  just  runs  away  about  streets.  There  's  some- 
times she  does  —  worse." 

"  Worse  ?  "      The  young  lady's  pure,  puzzled 


The  Stone  House.  85 

face  dropped  suddenly.  "  O,  I  was  very  dull !  I 
am  sorry.  I  am  not  used  —  "  And  so  broke  off, 
with  a  sick  look  about  the  lips,  —  a  look  which 
did  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  little  brown, 
pinched  face  in  the  firelight,  for  it  was  curving 
into  a  bitter  smile  when  the  door  opened,  bang- 
ing back  against  the  wall  as  if  the  opener  had 
either  little  consciousness  or  little  care  of  the 
noise  it  made. 

"  There  's  Catty,"  said  Sip,  doggedly.  "  Come 
and  get  warm,  Catty."  This  in  their  silent  lan- 
guage on  her  rapid,  work-worn  fingers. 

"  If  you  mind  me  now,  I  '11  go,"  said  Miss 
Kelso,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That 's  for  you  to  say,  whether  I  shall  mind 
you  now." 

"  Poor  Catty  !  "  said  Perley,  still  in  a  very  low 
voice.  "  Poor,  poor  Catty  !  " 

Sip  flushed,  —  flushed  very  sweetly  and  sud- 
denly all  over  her  dogged  face.  "Now  I  don't 
mind  you.  Stay  to  supper.  We  '11  have  supper 
right  away.  Come  here  a  minute,  Catty  dear." 

Catty  dear  would  not  come.  Catty  dear  stood 
scowling  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a  sullen,  ill- 
tempered,  ill-controlled,  uncontrollable  Catty  dear 
as  one  could  ask  to  see. 


86  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  For  love's  sake,"  said  Sip,  on  her  patient 
fingers  ;  "here  a  minute,  for  love's  sake,  Catty." 

"  For  love's  sake  ? "  repeated  Catty,  in  her 
pathetic  language. 

"  Only  for  love's  sake,  dear,"  said  Sip. 

Catty  came  with  this,  and  laid  her  head  down 
with  a  singularly  gentle  motion  on  Sip's  faded 
plaid  lap.  Miss  Kelso  could  see  her  now,  in  the 
light  in  which  they  three  were  sitting.  A  girl 
possibly  of  fifteen  years,  —  a  girl  with  a  low  fore- 
head, with  wandering  eyes,  with  a  dull  stoop  to 
the  head,  with  long,  lithe,  magnetic  fingers, 
with  a  thick,  dropping  under  lip,  —  a  girl  walled 
up  and  walled  in  from  that  labyrinth  of  sympa- 
thies, that  difficult  evolution  of  brain  from  beast, 
the  gorgeous  peril  of  that  play  at  good  and  evil 
which  we  call  life,  except  at  the  wandering  eyes, 
and  at  the  long,  lithe,  magnetic  fingers.  An  ugly 
girl. 

She  lay,  for  an  ugly  girl,  very  still  in  her  sis- 
ter's lap.  Sip  softly  stroked  her  face,  talking 
now  to  the  child  and  now  to  her  visitor,  wound 
about  in  a  pretty  net  of  soft  sounds  and  softer 
motions.  A  pleasant  change  had  fallen  upon 
her  since  the  deaf-mute  came  in. 


The  Stone  House.  87 

"  See  how  pleasant  it  is  to  come  home  early, 
Catty."  (She  won't  talk  to-night,  because  you  're 
here.)  "  For  love's  sake,  dear,  you  know."  (That 
's  the  way  I  get  along  with  her.  She  likes  that.) 
"  For  love's  sake  and  my  sake,  and  with  the  lamp 
and  fire  bright.  So  much  better  —  "  (It 's  never 
her  fault,  poor  dear !  God  knows,  I  never,  never 
laid  it  up  against  her  as  it  was  her  fault.)  "  Bet- 
ter than  the  dark  street-corners,  Catty  —  " 

"  There  's  light  in  the  shops,"  said  Catty,  on 
her  long  fingers,  with  a  shrewd,  unpleasant  smile. 

"And  supper  at  home,"  said  Sip,  quickly,  ris- 
ing. "  For  love's  sake,  you  know.  And  company 
to  supper ! " 

"  For  love's  sake  ?  "  asked  Catty,  rising  too. 

"  7  don't  know  for  whose  sake  ! "  said  Sip,  all 
the  pleasantness  gone  in  a  minute  from  her. 

The  young  lady  and  Catty  were  standing  now, 
between  the  lamp-glow  and  the  fire-glow,  side  by 
side.  They  were  a  startling  pair  to  be  standing 
side  by  side.  They  stood  quite  still,  except  that 
Catty  passed  her  fingers  curiously  over  Miss 
Kelso's  dress,  —  it  seemed  that  she  saw  quite  as 
much  with  her  fingers  as  with  her  eyes,  —  and 
that  she  nodded  once  or  twice,  as  if  she  were 


88  The  Silent  Partner. 

talking  to  herself,  in  a  stupid  way.  Perley's  fine, 
fair,  finished  smile  seemed  to  blot  out  this  miser- 
able figure,  and  to  fill  the  room  with  a  kind  of 
dazzle. 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  Sip,  sharply.  "  You  asked 
me  for  the  difference.  Look  at  that !  You 
asked  what  difference  the  dirt  makes.  That 's 
the  difference!  To  be  born  in  it,  breathe  it, 
swallow  it,  grow  on  it,  live  it,  die  and  go  back  to 
it  —  bah  !  If  you  want  to  go  to  the  devil,  work  in 
the  dirt.  Look  at  her  !  " 

"I  look  at  her,"  said  Perley,  with  a  solemn, 
frightened  look  upon  her  young  face, —  "I  look 
at  her,  Sip.  For  love's  sake.  Believe  me  if  you 
can.  Make  her  understand.  I  look  for  love's 
sake." 

Is  it  possible  ?  Is  Miss  Kelso  sure  ?  Not  for  a 
whim's  sake  ?  Not  for  fancy's  sake  ?  Not  for 
the  sake  of  an  idle  moment's  curiosity  ?  Not  to 
gratify  an  eccentric  taste,  —  playing  my  Lady 
Bountiful  for  a  pretty  change  in  a  pretty  life  ? 
Look  at  her ;  it  is  a  very  loathsome  under  lip. 
Look  well  at  her  ;  they  are  not  pleasant  eyes. 
An  ugly  girl,  —  a  very  ugly  girl.  For  love's  sake, 
Miss  Kelso  ? 


The  Stone  House.  89 

Catty  sat  down  to  supper  without  washing  her 
face.  This  troubled  Sip  more  than  it  did  her 
visitor.  Her  visitor,  indeed,  scarcely  noticed  it. 
Her  face  wore  yet  something  of  the  solemn  fright 
which  had  descended  on  it  with  Catty's  com- 
ing in. 

She  noticed,  however,  that  she  had  bread  and 
butter  for  her  supper,  and  that  she  was  eating 
from  a  stone-china  plate,  and  with  a  steel  fork 
and  with  a  pewter  spoon.  She  noticed  that  the 
bread  was  toasted,  it  seemed  in  deference  to  the 
presence  of  a  guest,  and  that  the  toasting  had 
feverishly  flushed  Sip's  haggard  face.  She  no- 
ticed that  Sip  and  Catty  ate  no  butter,  but  dipped 
their  bread  into  a  little  blue  bowl  of  thick  black 
molasses.  She  noticed  that  there  was  a  kind  of 
coarse  black  tea  upon  the  table,  and  noticed  that 
she  found  a  single  pewter  spoonful  of  it  quite 
sufficient  for  her  wants.  She  noticed  that  Sip 
made  rather  a  form  than  a  fact  of  playing  with 
her  toasted  bread  in  the  thick  black  molasses, 
and  that  she  drained  her  dreadful  teacup  thirstily, 
and  that  she  then  leaned,  with  a  sudden  sick  look, 
back  into  her  chair. 

Everything  tasted  of  oil,  she  said.      She  could 


90  The  Silent  Partner. 

not  eat  There  were  times  that  she  could  not  eat 
day  nor  night  for  a  long  time.  How  long  ?  She 
was  not  sure.  It  had  been  often  two  days  that 
nothing  passed  her  lips.  Sometimes,  with  the 
tea,  it  was  longer.  There  were  times  that  she 
came  home  and  got  right  into  bed,  dirt  and 
all.  She  could  n't  undress,  no,  not  if  it  was  to 
save  her  soul,  nor  eat.  But,  generally,  she  man- 
aged to  cook  for  Catty.  Besides,  there  was  the 
work. 

"  What  work  ?  "  asked  Miss  Kelso,  innocently. 

"  Washing.  Ironing.  Baking.  Sweeping. 
Dusting.  Sewing.  Marketing.  Pumping.  Scrub- 
bing. Scouring,"  said  Sip,  drumming  out  her 
periods  on  a  teaspoon  with  her  hard,  worn  fingers. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Miss  Kelso. 

"  For  two,  you  see,"  said  Sip. 

"  But  all  this,  —  you  cannot  have  all  this  to  do 
after  you  have  stood  eleven  hours  and  a  half  at 
your  loom  ? " 

"  When  should  I  have  it  to  do  !  There 's  Sun- 
day, to  be  sure  ;  but  I  don't  do  so  much  now  Sun- 
days, except  the  washing  and  the  brushing  up. 
I  like,"  with  a  gentle,  quick  look  at  the  deaf  and 
dumb  girl,  who  still  sat  dipping  bread  crusts  into 


The  Stone  House.  91 

black  molasses,  absorbed  and  still,  "  to  make  it  a 
kind  of  a  comfortable  day  for  Catty,  Sunday. 
I  don't  bother  Catty  so  much  to  help  me,  you 
know,"  added  Sip,  cheerfully.  "  I  like,"  with  an- 
other very  pleasant  look,  "  to  make  it  comfortable 
for  Catty." 

"  I  went  into  the  mills  to-day,"  said  Miss  Kelso, 
in  reply.  It  was  not  very  much  to  the  point  as  a 
reply,  and  was  said  with  an  interrogatory  accent, 
which  lessened  its  aptness. 

"  Yes  ? "  said  Sip,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  I  never  was  in  a  mill  before." 

"  No  ? " 

11  No." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  the  young  lady 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  a  leading  question,  like  a 
puzzled  scholar.  If  she  were,  she  had  none.  Sip 
sat  with  her  dogged  smile,  and  snapped  little  paper 
balls  into  the  fire. 

"  I  thought  it  rather  close  in  the  mills." 

"  Yes  ? " 

"And  —  dirty.  And  —  there  was  one  very 
warm  room  ;  the  overseer  advised  me  not  to  go  in." 

"  It  was  very  good  advice." 

*'  I  went  into  the  Company  boarding-house  too  " 


92  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  For  the  first  time  ? " 

"  For  the  first  time.  I  went  to  inquire  after 
you.  The  landlady  took  me  about.  Now  I  think 
of  it,  she  invited  me  to  tea." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  stay  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  —  tablecloth  was 
—  rather  dirty." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  And  I  saw  her  wipe  her  face  on  —  the  dish- 
towel.  Do  the  girls  often  sleep  six  in  a  room  ? 
They  had  no  wash-stands.  I  saw  some  basins 
set  on  trunks.  They  carried  all  the  water  up  and 
down  stairs  themselves  ;  there  were  two  or  three 
flights.  There  was  n't  a  ventilator  in  the  house. 
I  saw  a  girl  there  sick." 

"  Sick  ?  O,  Bert  Bush.  Yes.  Pleurisy.  She  's 
going  to  work  her  notice  when  she  gets  about 
again.  Given  out." 

"  She  coughed  while  I  was  there.  I  thought 
her  room  was  rather  cold.  I  thought  all  the 
rooms  were  rather  cold.  I  didn't  seem  to  see 
any  fire  for  anybody,  except  in  the  common  sit- 
ting-room. But  the  bread  was  sweet." 

"  Yes,  the  bread  was  sweet." 

"  And  the  gingerbread." 


The  Stone  House.  93 

"  Very  sweet." 

"  And,  I  suppose,  the  board  — 

"  The  board  is  quarter  of  a  dollar  cheaper  than 
In  other  places." 

Sip  stopped  snapping  paper  balls  into  the  fire, 
and  snapped  instead  one  of  her  shrewd,  sidewise 
glances  at  her  visitor's  face. 

The  fine,  fair,  finished  face  !  How  puzzled  it 
looked  !  Sip  smiled. 

Catty  had  crept  around  while  they  were  talk- 
ing, and  sat  upon  the  floor  by  Miss  Kelso's  chair. 
She  was  still  amusing  herself  with  the  young 
lady's  dress,  passing  her  wise  fingers  to  and  fro 
across  its  elegant  surface,  and  nodding  to  herself 
in  her  dull  way.  Miss  Kelso's  hand,  the  one  with 
the  rings,  lay  upon  her  lap,  and  Catty,  attracted 
suddenly  by  the  blaze  of  the  jewels,  took  it  up. 
She  took  it  up  as  she  would  a  novel  toy,  examined 
it  for  a  few  moments  with  much  pleasure,  then 
removed  the  rings  and  dropped  them  carelessly, 
and  laid  her  cheek  down  upon  the  soft  flesh.  It 
was  such  a  dusty  cheek,  and  such  a  beautiful, 
bare,  clean  hand,  that  Sip  started  anxiously  to 
speak  to  Catty,  but  saw  that  Perley  sat  quite  still, 
and  that  her  earnest  eyes  were  full  of  sudden  tears 


94  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  You  will  not  let  me  say,  you  know,  that  I  am 
sorry  for  you.  I  have  been  trying  all  the  even- 
ing. I  can't  come  any  nearer  than  this."  This 
she  said  smiling. 

"  Look  here  ! "  said  Sip  ;  her  brown  face  worked 
and  altered.  She  said,  "  Look  here  !  "  again,  and 
stopped.  "  That  's  nigh  enough.  I  '11  take  that. 
I  like  that.  I  like  you.  Look  here !  I  never 
said  that  to  one  of  your  kind  of  folks  before  ;  I 
like  you.  Generally  I  hate  your  kind  of  folks." 

"  Now  that,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  musing,  "  per- 
plexes me.  We  feel  no  such  instinct  of  aversion 
to  you.  As  far  as  I  understand  '  my  kind  of 
folks,'  they  have  kindly  hearts,  and  they  have  it 
in  their  hearts  to  feel  very  sorry  for  the  poor." 

"  Who  wants  their  pity  ?  And  who  cares 
what  's  in  their  hearts  ?  " 

Sip  had  hardened  again  like  a  little  growing 
prickly  nut.  The  subject  and  her  softer  mood 
dropped  away  together. 

"  Sip,"  said  Perley,  fallen  into  another  revery, 
"you  see  how  little  I  know  —  " 

Sip  nodded. 

"  About  —  people  who  work  and  —  have  a 
hard  time." 


The  Stone  House.  95 

"  They  don't  none  of  'em  know.  That 's  why 
I  hate  your  kind  of  folks.  It  ain't  because  they 
don't  care,  it  's  because  they  don't  know ;  nor 
they  don't  care  enough  to  know." 

"  Now  I  have  always  been  brought  up  to  be- 
lieve," urged  Miss  Kelso,  "  that  our  factory^ 
people,  for  instance,  had  good  wages." 

"  I  never  complained  of  the  wages.  Hayle 
and  Kelso  could  n't  get  a  cotton-weaver  for 
three  dollars  a  week,  like  a  paper-factory  I 
know  about  in  Cincinnati.  I  knew  a  girl  as 
worked  to  Cincinnati.  Three  dollars  a  week, 
and  board  to  come  out  of  it!  Cotton-weav- 
ing 's  no  play,  and  cotton-weavers  are  no 
fools." 

"  And  I  always  thought,"  continued  Miss  Kelso, 
"  that  such  people  were  —  why,  happy  and  com- 
fortable, you  know.  Of  course,  I  knew  they  must 
economize,  and  that,  but  —  " 

She  looked  vaguely  over  at  the  supper-table  ; 
such  uncertain  conceptions  as  she  might  hith- 
erto be  said  to  have  had  of  "  economizing  "  ac- 
quiring suddenly  the  form  of  thick,  black  mo- 
lasses, a  little  sticky,  to  be  sure,  but  tangible. 

Sip  made  no  reply,  and  Perley,  suddenly  aware 


96  The  Silent  Partner. 

of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  started  in  dismay  to 
take  her  leave.  It  occurred  to  her  that  the  sticky 
stone-china  dishes  were  yet  to  be  washed,  and 
that  she  had  done  a  thoughtless  thing  in  impos- 
ing, for  a  novel  evening's  entertainment,  upon 
the  scanty  leisure  of  a  worn-out  factory-girl. 

She  turned,  however,  neither  an  entertained 
nor  a  thoughtless  face  upon  Sip  when  she  tried 
to  rise  from  her  chair.  Catty  had  fallen  asleep, 
with  her  dirty  cheek  upon  the  shining  hand,  from 
which  the  rings  were  gone.  Her  ugly  lower  lip 
protruded,  and  all  the  repulsive  lines  about  her 
eyes  came  out.  Her  long  fingers  moved  a  little, 
as  is  often  the  way  with  the  deaf  and  dumb  in 
sleep,  framing  broken  words.  Even  in  her 
dreams,  this  miserable  creature  bore  about  her  a 
dull  sense  of  denial  and  distress.  Even  in  her 
dreams  she  listened  for  what  she  never  heard, 
and  spoke  that  which  no  man  understood. 

"  Mother  used  to  say,"  said  Sip,  under  her 
breath,  "that  it  was  the  noise." 

"  The  noise  ?  " 

"  The  noise  of  the  wheels.  She  said  they 
beat  about  in  her  head.  She  come  home  o' 
nights,  and  says  to  herself,  'The  baby  '11  never 


The  Stone  House.  97 

hear  in  this  world  unless  she  hears  the  wheels ' ; 
and  sure  enough  "  (Sip  lifted  her  face  to  Perley's, 
with  a  look  of  awe),  "  it  is  true  enough  that 
Catty  hears  the  wheels ;  but  never  anything 
besides." 


98  The  Silent  Partner. 


CHAPTER    V. 

BUB    MELL. 

T  T  was  a  March  night,  and  a  gray  night,  and  a 
•*•  wild  night ;  Perley  Kelso  stepped  out  into 
it,  from  the  damp  little  stone  house,  with  some- 
thing of  the  confusion  of  the  time  upon  her.  Her 
head  and  heart  both  ached.  She  felt  like  a 
stranger  setting  foot  in  a  strange  ]and.  Old, 
home-like  boundary  lines  of  things  to  which  her 
smooth  young  life  had  rounded,  wavered  before 
her.  It  even  occurred  to  her  that  she  should 
never  be  very  happy  again,  for  knowing  that  fac- 
tory-girls ate  black  molasses  and  had  the  cotton- 
cough. 

She  meant  to  tell  Maverick  about  it.  She 
might  have  meant  many  other  things,  but  for 
being  so  suddenly  and  violently  jerked  by  the 
elbow  that  she  preserved  herself  with  difficulty 
from  a  smart  fall  into  the  slushy  street.  Striking 
out  with  one  hand  to  preserve  her  balance,  she 


Bub  MelL  99 

found  herself  in  the  novel  position  of  collaring 
either  a  very  old  young  child  or  a  very  young 
old  man,  it  was  impossible  at  first  sight  to  tell 
which.  Whatever  he  was,  it  was  easy  at  first 
sight  to  tell  that  he  was  filthy  and  ragged. 

"  Le'  go  ! "  yelled  the  old  young  creature, 
writhing.  "  Le'  go,  I  say,  dern  yer !  Le'  me  be  ! " 

Perley  concluded,  as  her  eyes  wonted  to  the 
dark  street,  that  the  old  young  creature  was  by 
right  a  child. 

"  If  yer  had  n't  le"  go  I  'd  'a'  made  yer,  yer 
bet,"  said  the  boy,  gallantly.  "  Pretty  way  to 
treat  a  cove  as  doin'  yer  a  favor.  You  bet. 
Hi-igh  ! " 

This,  with  a  cross  between  a  growl  of  defiance 
and  a  whine  of  injury. 

"  Guess  what  I  Ve  got  o'  yourn  ?  You  could  n't. 
You  bet." 

"  But  I  don't  bet,"  said  Perley,  with  an  amused 
face. 

"  Yer  don't  ?  /  do.  Hi-igh  !  Don't  I  though  ? 
You  bet !  Now  what  do  you  call  that  ?  Say  !  " 

"I  call  that  my  glove.  I  did  not  miss  it  till 
this  minute.  Did  you  pick  it  up  ?  Thank  you." 

"  You  need  n't  thank  me  till  you  Ve  got  it,  you 


ioo  The  Silent  Partner. 

need  n't,"  said  the  child.  "  /  'm  a  cove  as  knows 
a  thing  or  two.  I  want  ten  cents.  You  bet  I  do." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  Perley. 

He  lived  down  to  East  Street.  Fust  Tene- 
ment. No.  6.  What  business  was  it  of  hern, 
he  'd  like  to  know. 

"  Have  you  a  father  and  mother  ? " 

Lor  yes  !      Two  of  'em.     Why  should  n't  he  ? 

"  I  believe  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Per- 
ley, "  it  is  so  near  by  ;  and  —  I  suppose  you  are 
poor  ? " 

Lor,  yes.     She  might  bet. 

"And  I  can  make  it  right  about  the  recovery 
of  the  glove  when  I  get  there  ? " 

"  N-n-oo  you  don't ! "  promptly,  from  the  cove 
as  knew  a  thing  or  two.  "You'll  sling  over 
to  the  old  folks,  I  '11  bet.  You  don't  come 
that ! " 

"  But,"  suggested  Parley,  "  I  can,  perhaps, 
give  your  father  and  mother  a  much  larger 
sum  of  money  than  I  should  think  it  best  to 
give  you.  If  they  are  poor,  I  should  think  you 
would  be  glad  that  they  should  have  it.  And 
I  can't  walk  in,  you  know,  and  give  your  father 
and  mother  money  for  nothing." 


Bub  Me II.  101 

"  You  give  me  ten  cents,"  said  this  young  old 
man,  stoutly,  "  or  what  do  you  s'pose  I  '11  do  with 
this  'ere  glove  ?  Guess  now  !  " 

Perley  failed  to  guess  now. 

"  I  '11  cut  'n'  run  with  it.  I  '11  cut  'n'  run  like 
mad.  You  bet.  I  '11  snip  it  up  with  a  pair  of 
shears  I  know  about.  I  '11  jab  holes  in  it  with 
a  jackknife  I  've  got.  No,  I  won't.  I  '11  swop 
it  off  with  my  sister,  for  a  yaller  yaggate  I've  got 
my  eye  on  in  the  'pothecarry's  winder.  My  sis- 
ter 's  a  mill-gal.  She  '11  wear  it  on  one  hand  to 
meetin',  an'  stick  the  t'other  in  her  muff.  That 's 
what  I  '11  do.  How  '11  you  like  that  ?  Hi-igh  ! 
You  bet  ! " 

"At  least,  I  can  go  home  with  you,"  said 
Perley,  absently  effecting  an  exchange  between 
her  glove  and  a  fresh  piece  of  ten-cent  scrip, 
which  the  boy  held  up  in  the  light  from  a  shop- 
window,  and  tested  with  the  air  of  a  middle-aged 
counterfeiter  ;  "  you  ought  to  have  been  at  home 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Lor  now,"  said  this  promising  youth,  "  I  was 
just  thinkin'  so  ought  you." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Perley,  as  they 
turned  their  two  faces  (one  would  have  been 


1O2  The  Silent  Partner. 

struck,  seeing  them  together,  with  thinking  how 
much  younger  the  woman  looked  than  the  child), 
toward  East  Street,  the  First  Tenement,  and 
No.  6. 

"  My  name  's  Bub.  Bub  Mell.  They  used  to 
call  me  Bubby,  for  short,  till  I  got  so  large  they 
give  it  up." 

'•  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Eight  last  Febiverry." 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"Work  to  the  Old  Stone." 

"  But  I  thought  no  children  under  ten  years 
of  age  were  allowed  to  work  in  the  mills." 

"  You  must  be  green ! "  said  Bub. 

"  But  you  go  to  school  ? " 

"  I  went  to  school  till  I  got  so  large  they 
give  it  up." 

"  But  you  go  a  part  of  the  time,  of  course  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  neither.  Don't  you  s'pose  I 
knows  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  you  have  in  your  mouth  ? " 
asked  Perley,  suddenly. 

Bub  relieved  himself  of  a  quid  of  fabulous  size, 
making  quite  superfluous  the  concise  reply,  "  Ter- 
baccer." 


Bub  Mell,  103 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  little  boy  as  you  chew 
tobacco  before,"  said  Perley,  gasping. 

"  You  must  be  green  !  I  took  my  fust  swag  a 
year  and  a  half  ago.  We  all  does.  I  'm  just 
out,  it  happens,"  said  Bub,  with  a  candid  smile. 
"  That  's  what  I  wanted  your  ten  cents  for. 
I  smoke?,  too,"  added .  Bub,  with  an  air  of 
having  trkd  not  to  mention  it,  for  modesty's 
sake,  but  of  being  tempted  overmuch.  "  You 
bet  I  do  !  Sometimes  it 's  pipes,  and  sometimes 
it 's  ends.  As  a  gener'l  thing,  give  me  a  pipe." 

"  What  else  do  you  do  ? "  demanded  Perley, 
faintly. 

"Whsrt  else?"  Bub  reflected,  with  his  old, 
old  head  on  one  side.  He  bet  on  marbles. 
He  knew  a  tip-top  gin-sling,  when  he  see  it,  well 
as  most  folks.  He  could  pitch  pennies  He 
could  ketch  a  rat  ag'in  any  cove  on  East  Street. 
Lor  !  could  n't  he  ? 

"  But  what  else  ?  "  persisted  Perley. 

Bub  was  puzzled.  He  thought  there  warn't 
nothin'  else.  After  that  he  had  his  supper. 

"And  after  that?" 

Lor.    After  that  he  went  to  bed. 

"And  after  that?" 


IO4  The  Silent  Partner. 

After  that  he  got  up  and  went  in. 

"Went  in  where?" 

She  must  be  green.  Into  the  Old  Stone. 
Spoolin',  you  know. 

Did  he  go  to  church? 

She  might  bet  he  did  n't !  Why,  when 
should  he  ketch  the  rats  ? 

Nor  Sunday  school  ? 

He  went  to  the  Mission  once.  Had  a  card 
with  a  green  boy  onto  it.  Got  so  old  he  give 
it  up. 

What  did  he  expect,  asked  Perley,  in  a 
sudden,  severe  burst  of  religious  enthusiasm, 
would  become  of  him  when  he  died  ? 

Eh? 

When  he  died,  what  would  become  of  him  ? 

Lor. 

Could  he  read? 

Fust  Primer.     Never  tried  nothin'  else. 

Could  he  write  ? 

No. 

Was  he  going  to  school  again  ? 

Could  n't  say. 

Why  did  n't  his  parents  send  him? 

Could  n't  say  that.    Thought  they  was  too  old  ; 


Bub  MelL  105 

no,  thought  he  was  too  old ;  well,  he  did  n't  know ; 
thought  somebody  was  too  old,  and  give  it  up. 

Was  this  where  he  lived  ? 

She  must  be  green !  Of  course  he  did. 
Comin'  in  ? 

Parley  was  coming  in.  With  hesitation  she 
came  in. 

She  came  into  what  struck  her  as  a  very 
unpleasant  place  ;  a  narrow,  crumbling  place ; 
a  place  with  a  peculiar  odor  ;  a  very  dark  place. 
Bub  cheerfully  suggested  that  she  'd  better  look 
out. 

For  what  ? 

Holes. 

Where  ? 

Holes  in  the  stairs.  He  used  to  step  into  'em 
and  sprain  his  ankles,  you  bet,  till  he  got  so  old 
he  give  it  up  She  'd  better  look  out  for  the 
plaster  too.  She  'd  bump  her  head.  She  never 
saw  nothin'  break  like  that  plaster  did  ;  great 
cakes  of  it.  Here,  this  way.  Keerful  now ! 

By  this  way  and  that  way,  by  being  careful 

now  and  patient   then    and  quite   persistent   at 

all  times,  Perley  contrived  to  follow  Bub  in  safety 

up  two  flights  of  villanous    stairs  and  into  the 

5* 


io6  The  Silent  Partner. 

sudden  shine  of  a  low,  little  room,  into  which  he 
shot  rather  than  introduced  her,  with  the  unem- 
barrassing  remark  that  he  did .  n't  know  what 
she  'd  come  for,  but  there  she  was. 

There  were  six  children,  a  cooking-stove,  a 
bed,  a  table,  and  a  man  with  stooped  shoulders 
in  the  room.  There  was  an  odor  in  the  room 
like  that  upon  the  stairs.  The  man,  the  children, 
the  cooking-stove,  the  bed,  the  table,  and  the  odor 
quite  filled  the  room. 

The  room  opened  into  another  room,  in  which 
there  seemed  to  be  a  bureau,  a  bed,  and  a  sick 
woman. 

Miss  Kelso  met  with  but  a  cool  reception  in 
these  rooms.  The  man,  the  children,  the  cook- 
ing-stove, the  bed,  the  odor,  and  the  woman  thrust 
her  at  once,  she  could  not  have  said  how,  into 
the  position  of  an  intruder.  The  sick  woman, 
upon  hearing  her  errand,  flung  herself  over  to 
the  wall  with  an  impatient  motion.  The  man  sul- 
lenly invited  her  to  sit  down  ;  gave  her  to  under- 
stand —  again  she  could  hardly  have  told  how  — 
that  he  wanted  no  money  of  her ;  no  doubt  the 
boy  had  had  more  than  he  deserved  ;  but  that,  if 
she  felt  inclined,  she  might  sit  down. 


Bub  Mell.  107 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Perley,  in  much  con- 
fusion, "  I  did  not  come  so  much  on  account  of 
the  glove  as  on  account  of  the  boy." 

What  had  the  boy  been  up  to  now  ?  The 
sullen  man  darted  so  fierce  a  look  at  the  boy, 
who  sat  with  his  old,  old  smile,  lighting  an  old 
pipe  behind  the  cooking-stove,  that  Perley  has- 
tened to  explain  that  she  did  not  blame  the  boy. 
Who  could  blame  the  boy  ? 

"  But  he  was  out  so  late  about  the  streets,  Mr. 
Mell.  He  uses  tobacco  as  most  children  use 
candy.  And  a  child  of  that  age  ought  not  to  be 
in  the  mills,  sir,"  said  Perley,  warming,  "  he  ought 
to  be  at  school ! " 

O,  that  was  all,  was  it  ?  Mr.  Mell  pushed  back 
his  stooped  shoulders  into  his  chair  with  an  air 
of  relief,  and  Bub  lighted  his  pipe  in  peace.  But 
he  had  a  frowning  face,  this  Mr.  Mell,  and  he 
turned  its  frown  upon  his  visitor.  He  would  like 
to  know  what  business  it  was  of  hers  what  he  did 
with  his  boy,  and  made  no  scruple  of  saying  so. 

"  It  ought  to  be  some  of  my  business,"  said  the 
young  lady,  growing  bolder,  "  when  a  child  of 
eight  years  works  all  the  year  round  in  these 
mills.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  seem  very  rude, 


io8  The  Silent  Partner. 

sir ;  but  I  have  in  fact  come  out,  and  come  out 
alone  as  you  see  me,  to  see  with  my  own  eyes 
and  to  hear  with  my  own  ears  how  people  live 
who  work  in  these  mills." 

Had  she  ?  Mr.  Mell  smiled  grimly.  Not  a  pleas- 
ant job  for  a  lady  he  should  think ;  and  uncommon. 

"  It 's  a  job  I  mean  to  finish,"  said  Miss  Kelso, 
firmly.  "  The  stairs  in  this  house  are  in  a  shock- 
ing condition.  What  is  —  excuse  me  —  the  very 
peculiar  odor  which  I  notice  on  these  premises  ? 
It  must  be  poisonous  to  the  sick  woman,  —  your 
wife  ? " 

It  was  his  wife.  Yes  ;  consumption  ;  took  it 
weaving  ;  had  been  abed  this  four  month  ;  could 
n't  say  how  long  she  'd  hold  out.  Doctor  said, 
five  month  ago,  as  nothin'  would  save  her  but  a 
change.  So  he  sits  and  talks  about  Florida  and 
the  South  sun,  and  the  folks  as  had  been  saved 
down  there.  It  was  a  sort  of  a  fretful  thing  to 
hear  him.  Florida  !  Good  God  !  How  was  the 
likes  of  him  to  get  a  dyin'  wife  to  Florida  ? 

She  did  n't  like  strangers  overmuch  ;  better  not 
go  nigh  her  ;  she  was  kind  of  fretful ;  the  chil- 
dern  was  kind  of  fretful  too  ;  sometimes  they  cried 
like  as  his  head  would  split ;  he  kept  the  gel] 


Bub  MelL  109 

home  to  look  after  'em  ;•  not  the  first  gell ;  he 
could  n't  keep  her  to  home  at  all ;  she  made 
seven  ;  he  did  n't  know  's  he  blamed  her  ;  it  was 
a  kind  of  a  fretful  place,  let  alon'  the  stairs  and 
the  smell.  It  come  from  the  flood,  the  smell  did. 

«.•  The  flood?" 

Yes,  the  cellar  flooded  up  every  spring  from  the 
riv«£r  ;  it  might  be  drained,  he  should  think  ;  but 
it  never  was  as  he  heard  of.  There  was  the 
offal  from  the  mills  floated  in  ;  it  left  a  smell 
pretty  much  the  year  round  ;  and  a  kind  of  chill. 
Then  they  had  n't  any  drain,  you  see.  There  was 
that  hole  in  the  wall  where  they  threw  out  dish- 
water and  such.  So  it  fell  into  the  yard  under 
the  old  woman's  window,  and  made  her  kind  of 
fretful.  It  made  her  fretful  to  see  the  children 
ragged  too.  She  greeted  over  it  odd  times.  She 
had  a  clean  way  about  her,  when  she  was  up  and 
about,  the  old  woman  had. 

"  Who  owns  this  house  ? "  asked  Miss  Kelso, 
with  burning  eyes. 

The  man  seemed  unaccountably  reluctant  to 
reply ;  he  fixed  the  fire,  scolded  Bub,  scolded  a 
few  other  children,  and  shook  the  baby,  but  was 
evidently  unwilling  to  reply. 


1 10  The  Silent  Partner. 

Upon  Parley's  repeating  her  question,  the  sick 
woman,  with  another  impatient  fling  against  the 
wall,  cried  out  sharply,  What  was  the  odds  ?  Do 
tell  the  girl.  It  could  n't  harm  her,  could  it  ? 
Her  husband,  very  ill  at  ease,  believed  that  young 
Mr.  Hayle  owned  the  house  ;  though  they  dqalt 
with  his  lessee  ;  Mr.  Hayle  had  never  been  down 
himself. 

For  a  sullen  man,  with  a  stoop  in  the  shoul- 
ders, a  frown  in  the  face,  seven  children,  a  sick 
wife,  and  no  drain-spout,  Mr.  Mell  did  very  well 
about  this.  He  grew  even  communicative,  when 
the  blaze  in  Miss  Kelso's  eyes  went  out,  paled 
by  the  sudden  fire  in  her  cheek. 

He  supposed  he  was  the  more  riled  up  by  this 
and  that,  he  said,  for  being  English  ;  Scotch  by 
breed,  you  know ;  they  'd  named  the  first  gell 
after  her  grandma, —  Nynee  ;  quite  Scotch,  ye 
see  ;  she  was  a  Hielander,  grandma, — but  married 
to  England,  and  used  to  their  ways.  Now  there 
was  ways  and  ways,  and  one  way  was  a  ten-hour 
bill.  There  was  no  mistaking  that,  one  way  was 
a  ten-hour  bill,  and  it  was  a  way  they  did  well  by 
in  England,  and  it  was  a  way  they  'd  have  to  walk 
in  this  side  the  water  yet  —  w-a-l-k  in  y-e-t  I 


Bub  Mell.  1 1 1 

He'd  been  turned  out  o'  mills  in  this  country 
twice  for  goin'  into  a  ten-hour  strike ;  once  to 
Lawrence  and  once  up  to  New  Hampshire.  He  'd 
given  it  up.  It  did  n't  pay.  Since  the  old  wo- 
man was  laid  up,  he  must  get  steady  work  or 
starve. 

He  'd  been  a  factory  operative  *  thirty-three 
years  ;  twenty -three  years  to  home,  and  ten  years 
to  the  United  States,  only  one  year  as  he  was 
into  the  army  ;  he  was  forty-three  years  old. 
Why  did  n't  he  send  that  boy  to  school  ?  Why 
did  n't  he  drive  a  span  of  grays  !  He  could  n't 
send  the  boy  to  school,  nor  none  of  the  other  boys 
to  school,  except  as  mayhap  they  took  their  turn 
occasional.  He  made  it  a  point  to  send  them 
till  they  was  eight  if  he  could  ;  he  did  n't  like 
to  put  a  young  un  to  spoolin'  before  he  was  eight, 
if  he  could  help  it.  The  law  ?  O  yes,  there  was 
a  law,  and  there  was  ways  of  getting  round  a  law, 
bless  you  !  Ways  enough.  There  was  parties 
as  had  it  in  their  hands  to  make  it  none  so  easy, 
and  again  to  make  it  none  so  hard. 

"  What  parties  ? " 

*  Mr.  Mell's  "  testimony  "  may  be  found  in  the  reports  ot  the 
Massachusetts  Bureau  of  Labor. 


112  The  Silent  Partner. 

Parties  as  had  an  interest  in  spoolin  in  com- 
mon with  the  parent. 

"  The  child's  employers  ?  " 

Mr.  Mell  suddenly  upon  his  guard.  Mr.  Mell 
trusted  to  the  good  feelin'  of  a  young  lady  as 
would  have  a  heart  for  the  necessities  of  poverty, 
and  changed  the  subject. 

"  But  you  cannot  mean,"  persisted  Perley,  "  that 
a  healthy  man  like  you,  with  his  grown  children 
earning,  finds  it  impossible  to  support  his  family 
without  the  help  of  a  poor  baby  like  Bub  over 
there  ?  " 

Mr.  Mell  quite  meant  it.  Did  n't  know  what 
other  folks  could  do  ;  he  could  n't ;  not  since  the 
rise  in  prices,  and  the  old  woman  givin'  out. 
Why,  look  at  here.  There  was  the  gell,  twenty 
year  old  ;  she  worked  to  weaving  ;  there  was  the 
boy  as  was  seventeen,  him  reading  the  picture 
paper  over  to  the  table  there,  he  draws  and 
twists ;  there  was  another  gell  of  fifteen,  you 
might  say,  hander  at  the  harnesses  into  the 
dressing-room ;  then  there  was  Bub,  and  the 
babies. 

Counting  in  the  old  woman  and  the  losses, 
he  must  nave  Bub.  The  old  woman  ate  a  power- 


Bub  Mell.  113 

ful  sight  of  meat.  He  went  without  himself  when- 
soever he  could  ;  but  his  work  was  hard  ;  it  made 
him  kind  of  deathly  to  the  stomach  if  he  went 
without  his  meat. 

What  losses  did  he  speak  of?  Losses  enough. 
High  water.  Low  water.  Strikes.  Machinery 
under  repair.  Besides  the  deathly  feelin'  to  the 
stomach.  He'd  been  out  for  sickness  off  and  on, 
first  and  last,  a  deal ;  though  he  looked  a  healthy 
man,  as  she  said,  and  you  would  n't  think  it 
Fact  was,  he  'd  never  worked  but  one  whole 
month  in  six  year ;  nor  he  'd  never  taken  a 
week's  vacation  at  a  time,  of  his  own  will  an' 
pleasure,  for  six  year.  Sometimes  he  lost  two 
days  and  a  half  a  week,  right  along,  for  lack  of 
work.*  Sometimes  he  give  out  just  for  the  heat. 
He'd  often  seen  it  from  110°  to  116°  Fahrenheit 
in  the  dressing-room.  .  He  wished  he  was  back 
to  England.  He  would  n't  deny  but  there  was 
advantages  here,  but  he  wished  he  was  back. 

(This  man  had  worked  in  England  from  6  A.  M. 
to  8  o'clock  P.  M.,  with  no  time  allowed  for  dinner  ; 

*  "  We  may  here  add  that  our  inquiries  will  authorize  us  to 
say  that  three  out  of  every  five  laboring  men  were  out  of 
employ."  —  Statistics  of  Labor. 


114  The  Silent  Partner. 

he  paid  threepence  a  week  to  an  old  woman  who 
brought  hot  water  into  the  mills  at  noon,  with 
which  she  filled  the  tin  pot  in  which  he  had 
brought  tea  and  sugar  from  home.  He  had,  be- 
sides, a  piece  of  bread.  He  ate  with  one  hand 
and  worked  with  the  other.) 

He  warn't  complainin'  of  nobody  in  particular, 
to  nobody  in  particular,  but  he  thought  he  had  a 
kind  of  a  fretful  life.  He  had  n't  been  able  to  lay 
by  a  penny,  not  by  this  way  nor  that,  considerin' 
his  family  of  nine  and  the  old  woman,  and  the 
feelin'  to  the  stomach.  Now  that  made  him  fret- 
ful sometimes.  He  was  a  temperate  man,  he  'd 
like  to  have  it  borne  in  mind.  He  was  a  member 
of  a  ten-hour  society,  of  the  Odd  Fellows,  Good 
Templars,  and  Orthodox  Church. 

Anything  for  him  ?  No  ;  he  did  n't  know  of 
anything  she  could  do  for  him.  He'd  never 
taken  charity  from  nobody's  hands  yet.  He 
might,  mayhap,  come  to  it  some  day.  He  sup- 
posed it  was  fretful  of  him,  but  he  'd  rather  lay  in 
his  grave.  The  old  woman  she  would  n't  never 
know  nothing  of  that ;  it  was  a  kind  of  a  comfort, 
that  was.  He  was  obliged  to  her  for  wishing 
him  kindly.  Sorry  the  old  woman  was  so  fret- 


Bub  Mell.  115 

ful  to-night ;  she  was  oncommon  noisy  ;  and  the 
childern.  He  'd  ask  her  to  call  again,  if  the  old 
woman  was  n't  so  fretful  about  strangers.  Hold 
the  door  open  for  the  lady,  Bub.  Put  down  your 
pipe,  sir  !  Have  n't  ye  no  more  manners  than  to 
smoke  in  a  lady's  face  ?  There.  Now,  hold  the 
door  open  wide. 

Wide,  very  wide,  the  door  flung  that  Bub 
opened  to  Perley  Kelso.  As  wide  it  seemed  to 
her  as  the  gray,  wild,  March  night  itself.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs,  she  stood  still  to  take  its 
touch  upon  her  burning  face. 

Bub  crept  down  after  her,  and  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against  the  door. 

"  Ain't  used  to  the  dark,  be  ye  ? " 

No  ;  not  much  used  to  the  dark. 

"  Afraid  ? " 

Not  at  all  afraid. 

Lor.  He  was  goin'  to  offer  to  see  her  home, — 
for  ten  cents.  He  used  to  be  afraid.  Got  so  old 
he  give  it  up. 

Half-way  home,  Miss  Kelso  was  touched  upon 
the  arm  again  ;  this  time  gently,  and  with  some 
timidity.  Sip  Garth,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm, 
spoke  as  she  turned  ;  she  had  been  out  market- 


n6  The  Siknt  Partner. 

ing,  she  said  ;  getting  a  little  beef  for  to-morrow's 
dinner  ;  had  recognized  and  watched  her  half  up 
the  street ;  it  was  very  late  ;  Miss  Kelso  was  not 
so  used  to  being  out  late  as  mill-girls  were  ;  and 
if  she  cared  for  company  — 

"  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  any  reason  why  I 
should  not  be  out  as  late  as  mill-girls  are,"  mused 
Miss  Kelso,  struck  by  the  novelty  of  the  idea.  But 
she  was  glad  of  the  company,  certainly  ;  fell  into 
step  with  the  mill-girl  upon  the  now  crowded  walk. 

"  This  is  very  new  to  me,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  as  they  turned  a  corner  where  a  gust  of 
oaths  met  her  like  an  east-wind  and  took  away 
her  breath. 

"  You  '11  see  strange  sights,"  said  Sip,  with  her 
dogged  smile. 

She  saw  strange  sights,  indeed  ;  strange  sights 
for  delicate,  guarded,  fine  young  eyes;  but  so 
pitifully  familiar  to  the  little  mill-girl  with  the 
dogged  smile!  As  familiar,  for  instance,  as 
Maverick  and  Axminster  carpets  to  Miss  Kelso  ? 
Miss  Kelso  wondered. 

The  lights  of  the  little  town  were  all  ablaze  ; 
shops  and  lounging-places  full.  Five  Falls  was 
as  restless  as  the  restless  night. 


Bub  Mell.  117 

"Always  is,"  said  Sip,  "  in  a  wind.  Take  a 
good  storm,  or  even  take  the  moon,  and  it 's 
different.  When  mill-folks  have  a  man  to  hate, 
or  a  wife  to  beat,  or  a  child  to  drown,  or  a  sin  to 
think  of,  or  any  ugly  thing  to  do,  you  may  notice, 
ten  to  one,  they  '11  take  a  windy  night ;  a  dark 
night  like  this,  when  you  can't  see  what  the 
gale  is  up  to,  when  you  're  blown  along, 
when  you  run  against  things,  when  you  can't 
help  yourself,  when  nothing  seems  to  be  any- 
body's fault,  when  there  's  noises  in  the  world 
like  the  engines  of  ten  thousand  factories  let 
loose.  You  can't  keep  still.  You  run  about. 
You  're  in  and  out.  You  've  got  so  used  to  a 
noise.  You  feel  as  if  you  were  part  and  parcel 
of  it.  I  do.  Next  morning,  if  you  Ve  lost  your 
soul,  —  why,  the  wind  's  down,  and  you  don't 
understand  it." 

Sip's  dark  face  lighted  fitfully,  as  if  the  gusty 
weather  blew  its  meaning  to  and  fro ;  she  gestic- 
ulated with  her  hands  like  a  little  French  woman. 
It  struck  Perley  that  the  girl  was  not  far  wrong 
in  fancying  that  she  could  "  do  it  over  "  at  the 
Blue  Plum. 
.  But  Perley  saw  strange  sights.  Five  Falls  in 


Ii8  The  Silent  Partner. 

the  gusty  weather  was  full  of  them.  Full  of 
knots  of  girls  in  bright  ribbons  singing  unpleas- 
antly ;  of  knots  of  men  at  corners  drinking 
heavily  ;  of  tangles  where  the  two  knots  met 
with  discordant  laughter;  of  happy  lovers  that 
one  sighed  over  ;  of  haggard  sinners  that  one 
despaired  of  praying  over  ;  of  old  young  children 
with  their  pipes,  like  Bub ;  of  fragments  of  mur- 
derous Irish  threats  ;  of  shattered  bits  of  sweet 
Scotch  songs  ;  of  half-broken  English  brogue  ; 
of  German  gutturals  thick  with  lager  ;  only  now 
and  then  the  shrewd,  dry  Yankee  twang. 

It  was  to  be  noticed  of  these  people  that  the 
girls  swore,  that  the  babies  smoked,  that  the  men, 
more  especially  the  elder  men,  had  frowns  like 
Mr.  Mell. 

"  One  would  think,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  as  she 
watched  the  growing  crowd,  "  that  they  had  no 
homes." 

"  They  have  houses,"  said  Sip. 

They  passed  a  dark  step  where  something  lay 
curled  up  like  a  skulking  dog. 

"  What 's  that  ? "  said  Miss  Kelso,  stopping  and 
stooping.  It  was  a  little  girl,  —  a  very  little  girl 
She  had  a  heavy  bundle  or  a  pail  upon  her  arm  ; 


Bub  MelL  119 

had  been  sent  upon  an  errand,  it  seemed,  and 
had  dropped  upon  the  step  asleep ;  had  been 
trodden  on  once  or  twice,  for  her  clothes  bore 
the  mark  of  muddy  feet. 

"  That  's  Dib  Docket,"  said  Sip.  "  Go  home, 
Dib  !  "  Sip  shook  her,  not  ungently. 

The  little  thing  moved  away  uncertainly  like  a 
sleep-walker,  jostled  to  and  fro  by  people  in  the 
street.  She  seemed  either  too  weak  or  too  weary 
to  sit  or  stand. 

"  That  's  Dib  Docket,"  repeated  Sip.  "  That 
child  walks,  at  her  work  in  the  mills,  between 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  a  day.  I  counted  it  up 
once.  She  lives  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from 
the  factory  besides.  She  's  not  so  bright  as  she 
might  be.  It  's  a  wicked  little  devil  ;  knows 
more  wickedness  than  you  Ve  ever  thought  o£ 
Miss  Kelso.  No,  you  'd  better  not  go  after  her ; 
you  would  n't  understand." 

Women  with  peculiar  bleached  yellow  faces 
passed  by.  They  had  bright  eyes.  They  looked 
like  beautiful  moving  corpses  ;  as  if  they  might 
be  the  skeletons  among  the  statues  that  were  dug 
against  the  face  of  day.  Miss  Kelso  had  noticed 
them  since  she  first  came  out. 


I2O  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Cotton-weavers.  You  can  tell  a  weaver  by 
the  skin." 

Threading  her  way  through  a  blockade  of  loud- 
speaking  young  people  by  the  railroad  station 
(there  was  always  plenty  going  on  at  the  station, 
Sip  said),  Miss  Kelso  caught  a  bit  of  talk  about 
"  the  Lord's  day."  Surprised  at  this  evidence 
of  religious  feeling  where  she  was  not  prepared 
to  expect  it,  she  expressed  her  surprise  to  Sip. 

"  O,"  said  Sip,  "  we  mean  pay-day  ;  that 's 
all  the  Lord's  day  we  know  much  about." 

There  was  an  old  man  in  this  crowd  with  very 
white  hair.  He  had  a  group  of  young  fellows 
about  him,  and  gesticulated  at  them  while  he 
talked.  The  wind  was  blowing  his  hair  about. 
He  had  a  quavering  voice,  with  a  kind  of  mum- 
ble to  it,  like  the  voice  of  a  man  with  a  chronic 
toothache. 

"  Hear  him  !  "  said  Sip. 

Perley  could  hear  nothing  but  a  jargon  of 
"  Eight  hour,"  "  Ten  hour,"  "  Labor  reform," 
"  Union,"  "  Slaves  and  masters,"  "  Next  session," 
and  "  Put  it  through."  Some  of  the  young  fel- 
lows seemed  to  listen,  more  laughed. 


Bub  Mell.  121 

"  Poor  old  Bijah  ! "  said  Sip,  walking  on  ;  "  al- 
ways in  a  row,  — Bijah  Mudge  ;  can't  outgrow  it. 
He  's  been  turned  out  of  half  the  mills  in  New 
England,  folks  say.  He  '11  be  in  hot  water  in 
Five  Falls  before  long,  if  he  don't  look  out.  But 
he  's  a  lonesome  old  fellow,  —  Bijah." 

Just  beyond  the  station  Sip  suddenly  stopped. 
They  were  in  the  face  of  a  gay  little  shop,  with 
candy  and  dry  goods  in  the  windows. 

"  And  rum  enough  in  the  back  room  there  to 
damn  an  angel ! "  said  Sip;  passionately,  "  and  he 
will  have  her  in  there  in  five  minutes  !  Hold  on, 
will  you  ? "  She  broke  away  from  Miss  Kelso, 
who  "  held  on  "  in  bewilderment. 

A  pretty  girl  was  strolling  up  and  down  the 
platform  of  this  place,  with  her  hand  upon  the 
arm  of  a  young  fellow  with  a  black  mustache. 
The  girl  had  a  tint  like  that  of  pale  gold  about 
her  hair  and  face,  and  large,  vain,  unhappy  eyes. 
She  wore  blue  ribbons,  and  looked  like  a  Scotch 
picture. 

Sip  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  platform,  and 
called  her.  The  girl  came  crossly,  and  yet  with 
a  certain  air  of  relief  too. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Sip  Garth  ? " 
6 


122  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  home,  Nynee  Mell." 

"  Home  !  "  said  Nynee,  with  weak  bitterness. 

"  Yes,  home  ;  it 's  better  than  this." 

"  It  frets  me  so,  to  go  home  !  "  said  Nynee,  im- 
patiently. "  I  hate  to  go  home." 

"  It  is  better  than  this,"  repeated  Sip,  earnest- 
ly. "  Come.  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  preacher, 
Nynee,  but  I  do  set  up  that  Jim  's  no  company 
fit  for  a  decent  girl." 

"  I  'm  a  decent  girl,"  said  poor  Nynee,  trying 
to  toss  her  silly  head,  but  looking  about  her  with 
an  expression  of  alarm.  "  Who  said  I  was  n't  ?  " 

Sip's  reply  Miss  Kelso  lost.  The  two  girls 
talked  together  for  a  few  moments  in  low  tones. 
Presently  Nynee  walked  slowly  away. 

"  Jim  '11  be  cross  to-morrow,  if  I  give  him  the 
slip,"  she  said,  pettishly,  but  still  she  walked 
away. 

"  There  ! "  exclaimed  Sip,  stopping  where  she 
stood,  "  that  will  do.  Dirk  !  Dirk,  I  say !  " 

Dirk  I  say  stopped  too.  He  had  been  walking 
rapidly  down  the  street  when  Sip  spoke.  He  was 
a  young  man  of  perhaps  twenty-five,  with  a  strong 
hand  and  a  kindly  eye.  He  looked  very  kindly 
at  Sip. 


Bub  Mell.  123 

"I  want  you  to  go  home  with  Nynee  Mell," 
said  Sip. 

"  I  'd  a  sight  rather  go  home  with  some  others 
than  Nynee  Mell,"  said  the  kindly  young  man. 

"  I  know  what  I  'm  about,"  said  Sip.  "  I  know 
who  '11  keep  Nynee  Mell  out  of  mischief.  Go 
quick,  can't  you  ?  " 

The  kindly  young  man.  kindly  went ;  not  so 
quickly  as  he  might,  but  he  went. 

"  Who  was  that  young  man  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Kelso,  as  they  climbed  the  hill. 

"Jim  ?  A  miserable  Irishman,  Jim  is  ;  hasn't 
been  in  Five  Falls  a  month,  but  long  enough  to 
show  his  colors,  and  a  devilish  black  mustache, 
as  you  see.  You  see,  they  put  him  to  work  next 
to  Nynee  ;  he  must  go  somewhere  ;  they  put  him 
where  the  work  was  ;  they  did  n't  bother  their 
heads  about  the  girl ;  they  're  never  bothered  with 
such  things.  And  there  ain't  much  room  in  the 
alley.  So  she  spends  the  day  with  him,  pushing 
in  and  out.  So  she  gets  used  to  him  and  all  that. 
She  's  a  good  girl,  Nynee  Mell  ;  wildish,  and 
spends  her  money  on  her  ribbons,  but  a  good  girl. 
She  '11  go  to  the  devil,  sure  as  death,  at  this  rate. 
Who  would  n't  ?  Leastways,  being  Nynee  Mell." 


124  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  But  I  meant  the  other  young  man,"  observed 
Miss  Kelso. 

"  Him  ?  O,  that 's  Dirk  Burdock ;  watchman 
up  at  the  Old  Stone." 

"  A  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  said  Sip,  gravely. 
"  Perhaps  that 's  what  you  'd  call  him.  I  like 
Dirk  first-rate." 

Sip  pointed  out  one  other  young  man  to  Miss 
Kelso  before  they  were  quite  at  home.  They 
were  passing  a  dingy  hall  where  the  mission,  Sip 
said,  held  a  weekly  prayer  meeting.  The  young 
man  came  out  with  the  worshippers.  It  was  Mr. 
Garrick  (said  Sip),  the  new  partner.  He  'd  been 
in  the  way  of  going  since  he  was  in  the  dressing- 
room  himself;  folks  thought  he  'd  give  it  up  now  ; 
she  guessed  it  was  the  first  time  you  'd  ever 
caught  the  firm  into  the  mission  meeting  ;  mean- 
ing no  offence,  however. 

He  was  a  grave  man,  this  Mr.  Garrick  ;  a  man 
with  premature  wrinkles  on  the  forehead  ;  with  a 
hard-worked,  hard-working  mouth  ;  with  a  hard 
hand,  with  a  hard  step  ;  a  man,  you  would  say, 
in  a  hard  place,  acquired  by  a  hard  process  ;  a 
man,  perhaps,  who  would  find  it  hard  to  hope,  and 


Bub  MelL  125 

harder  to  despair.  But  a  man  with  a  very  bright, 
sweet,  sudden  smile.  A  man  of  whom  Perley 
Kelso  had  seen  or  heard  half  her  life  ;  who  had 
been  in  and  out  of  the  house  on  business  ;  who 
had  run  on  her  errands,  or  her  father's,  —  it  made 
little  difference  —  in  either  case  she  had  never 
troubled  herself  about  the  messenger  ;  but  a  man 
whose  face  she  could  no  more  have  defined  than 
she  could,  for  instance,  that  of  her  coachman. 
Her  eyes  followed  him,  therefore,  with  some 
curiosity,  as  he  lifted  his  hat  in  grave  surprise  at 
passing  her,  and  went  his  way. 

Perley  counted  the  people  that  came  out  from 
the  mission  meeting.  There  were  six  in  all. 

"There  must  be  sixty  folks  within  sight,"  ob- 
served Sip,  running  her  quick  eye  up  and  down 
the  gaudy  little  street,  "  as  many  as  sixty  loafin', 
I  mean." 

Miss  Kelso  made  no  answer,  and  they  reached 
and  entered  her  own  still,  clean,  elegantly  trimmed 
lawn  in  silence. 

"  Now  I  Ve  seen  you  safe  home,"  said  the  mill- 
girl,  "  I  shall  feel  better.  The  fact  was,  I  did  n't 
know  but  the  boys  would  bother  you  ;  they  're  a 
rough  set  ;  and  you  ain't  used  to  'em." 


126  The  Siknt  Partner. 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
the  young  lady.  "  They  all  know  me,  you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  they  all  know  you." 

"  I  supposed  they  would  feel  a  kind  ol  interest, 
or  respect  —  " 

"  What  reason  have  you  ever  given  them," 
said  Sip  in  a  low  tone,  "  to  feel  any  special  in- 
terest or  respect  for  you  ? " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought.  "  They  have  no  reason.  I  have 
given  them  none.  I  wish  you  would  come  in  a 
minute." 

"  Have  I  been  saucy  ? " 

"  No ;  you  have  been  honest.  Come  in  a 
minute  ;  come,  I  want  you." 

The  lofty,  luxurious  house  was  lighted  and 
still.  Sip  held  her  breath  when  the  heavy  front 
door  shut  her  into  it.  Her  feet  fell  on  a  carpet 
like  thick,  wild  moss,  as  she  crossed  the  warm 
wide  hall.  Miss  Kelso  took  her,  scarcely  aware, 
it  seemed,  that  she  did  so,  into  the  parlors,  and 
shut  their  oaken  doors  upon  their  novel  guest. 
She  motioned  the  girl  to  a  chair,  and  flung  her- 
self upon  another. 

Now,  for  a  young  lady  who  had  had  a  sea- 


Bub  Mell.  127 

son  ticket  to  the  Opera  every  winter  since  she 
could  remember,  it  will  be  readily  conjectured 
that  she  had  passed  an  exciting  evening.  In  her 
way,  even  the  mill-girl  felt  this.  But  in  her  way, 
the  mill-girl  was  embarrassed  and  alarmed  by  the 
condition  in  which  she  found  Miss  Kelso. 

The  young  lady  sat,  white  to  the  lips,  and 
trembled  violently ;  her  hands  covered  and  re- 
covered each  other,  with  a  feeble  motion,  as  they 
lay  upon  her  lap  ;  the  eyes  had  burned  to  a 
still  white  heat ;  her  breath  came  as  if  she  were 
in  pain. 

Suddenly  she  rose  with  a  little  crouch  like  a 
beautiful  leopardess  and  struck  the  gray  and 
green  chess-table  with  her  soft  hand  ;  the  blow 
snapped  one  of  her  rings. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  she  cried,  "  you  peo- 
ple who  work  and  suffer,  how  it  is  with  us  !  We 
are  born  in  a  dream,  I  tell  you !  Look  at  these 
rooms  !  Who  would  think  —  in  such  a  room  as 
this  —  except  he  dreamed  it,  that  the  mothers 
of  very  little  children  died  for  want  of  a  few 
hundreds  and  a  change  of  climate  ?  Why,  the 
curtains  in  this  room  cost  six !  See  how  it  is  ! 
You  touch  us  —  in  such  a  room  —  but  we  dream  ; 


128  The  Silent  Partner. 

we  shake  you  off.  If  you  cry  out  to  us,  we  only 
dream  that  you  cry.  We  are  not  cruel,  we  are 
only  asleep.  Sip  Garth,  when  we  have  clear  eyes 
and  a  kind  heart,  and  perhaps  a  clear  head,  and 
are  waked  up,  for  instance,  without  much  warn- 
ing, it  is  nature  to  spring  upon  our  wealth,  to  hate 
our  wealth,  to  feel  that  we  have  no  right  to  our 
wealth  ;  no  more  moral  right  to  it  than  the 
opium-eater  has  to  his  drug ! 

"  Why,  Sip,"  rising  to  pick  up  the  chess-table, 
"  I  never  knew  until  to-night  what  it  was  like  to 
be  poor.  It  was  n't  that  I  did  n't  care,  as  you 
said.  I  did  n't  know.  I  thought  it  was  a  respect- 
able thing,  a  comfortable  thing  ;  a  thing  that 
could  n't  be  helped  ;  a  clean  thing,  or  a  dirty 
thing,  a  lazy  thing,  or  a  drunken  thing ;  a  thing 
that  must  be,  just  as  mud  must  be  in  April ;  a 
thing  to  put  on  overshoes  for." 

And  now  what  did  she  think  ? 

"Who  knows  what  to  think,"  said  Perley 
Kelso,  "  that  is  just  waked  up  ?  " 

"  Miss  Kelso  ? "  said  Sip. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Kelso. 

"I  never  knew  in  all  my  life  how  grand  a 
room  could  be  till  I  come  into  this  grand  room 
to-night.  Now,  you  see,  if  it  was  mine  — " 


Bub  MelL  129 

"  What  would  you  do,  if  this  grand  room  were 
yours  ?  "  asked  Miss  Kelso,  curiously. 

"  Just  supposing  it,  you  know,  —  am  I  very 
saucy  ? " 

"  Not  very,  Sip." 

"  Why,"  said  Sip,  "  the  fact  is,  I  *d  bring  Nynee 
Mell  in  to  spend  an  evening  !  " 

An  engraving  that  lay  against  a  rich  easel  in  a 
corner  of  the  room  attracted  the  girl's  attention 
presently.  She  went  down  on  her  knees  to  ex- 
amine it.  It  chanced  to  be  Lemude's  dreaming 
Beethoven.  Sip  was  very  still  about  it. 

"  What  is  that  fellow  doing?"  she  asked,  after  a 
while,  —  "  him  with  the  stick  in  his  hand." 

She  pointed  to  the  leader  of  the  shadowy  or- 
chestra, touching  the  baton  through  the  glass, 
with  her  brown  finger. 

"  I  have  always  supposed,"  said  Perley,  "  that 
he  was  only  floating  with  the  rest ;  you  see  the 
orchestra  behind  him." 

"  Floating  after  those  women  with  their  arms 
up  ?  No,  he  is  n't ! " 

"  What  is  he  doing  ?  " 

"  It 's  riding  over  him,  —  the  orchestra.  He 
can't  master  it.  DonY  you  see  ?  It  sweeps  him 
6*  i 


130  The  Silent  Partner. 

along.  He  can't  help  himself.  They  come  and 
come.  How  fast  they  come !  How  he  fights 
and  falls  !  O,  I  know  how  they  come.  That 's 
the  way  things  come  to  me  ;  things  I  could  do, 
things  I  could  say,  things  I  could  get  rid  of  if  I 
had  the  chance  ;  they  come  in  the  mills  mostly  ; 
they  tumble  over  me  just  so ;  I  never  have  the 
chance.  How  he  fights  !  I  did  n't  know  there 
was  any  such  picture  as  that  in  the  world.  I  'd 
like  to  look  at  that  picture  day  and  night.  See  ! 
O,  I  know  how  they  come." 

"  Miss  Kelso  — "  after  another  silence  and 
still  upon  her  knees  before  the  driving  Dream 
and  the  restless  dreamer.  "  You  see,  that 's  it. 
That  's  like  your  pretty  things.  I  'd  keep  your 
pretty  things  if  I  was  you.  It  ain't  that  there 
should  n't  be  music  anywhere.  It  's  only  that 
the  music  should  n't  ride  over  the  master.  Seems 
to  me  it  is  like  that." 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  131 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MOULDINGS   AND   BRICKS. 

*  TV  /TAVERICK!" 

IV A     "  At  your  service." 

"  But  Maverick  — 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  Last  year,  at  Saratoga,  I  paid  fifteen  dollars 
apiece  for  having  my  dresses  done  up  ! " 

"  Thus  supporting  some  pious  and  respectable 
widow  for  the  winter,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Maverick  !  how  much  did  /  think  about  the 
widow  ? " 

"  I  should  say,  from  a  cursory  examination  of 
the  subject,  that  your  thoughts  would  be  of  less 
consequence  —  excuse  me  —  to  a  pious  and  re- 
spectable widow,  than  —  how  many  times  fifteen? 
Without  doubt,  a  serious  lack  of  taste  on  the  part 
of  a  widow  ;  but,  I  fear,  a  fatal  fact." 

"  But,  Maverick  !  I  know  a  man  on  East  Street 
whom  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  look  in 


132  The  Silent  Partner. 

the  face  again,  if  he  should  see  the  bill  for  san- 
talina  in  those  carriage  cushions  !  " 

The  bill  was  on  file,  undoubtedly,  suggested 
Maverick.  Allow  her  friend  an  opportunity  to 
see  it,  by  all  means. 

"  Maverick  !  do  you  see  that  shawl  on  the  arm 
of  the  tete-a-tete  ?  It  cost  me  three  thousand 
dollars." 

Why  not  ?  Since  she  did  the  thing  the  honor 
to  become  it,  she  must  in  candor  admit,  amaz- 
ingly. 

"  And  there 's  lace  up  stairs  in  my  bureau 
drawer  for  which  I  paid  fifty  dollars  a  yard.  And, 
Maverick !  I  believe  the  contents  of  any  single 
jewel-case  in  that  same  drawer  would  found  a 
free  bed  in  a  hospital.  And  my  bill  for  Farina 
cologne  and  kid  gloves  last  year  would  supply  a 
sick  woman  with  beefsteak  for  this.  And  Mav- 
erick ! " 

"  And  what  ? "  very  languidly  from  Maverick. 

"  Nothing,  only  —  why,  Maverick  !  I  am  a 
member  of  a  Christian  church.  It  has  just  oc- 
curred to  me." 

"  Maverick  ! "  again,  after  a  pause,  in  which 
Maverick  had  languished  quite  out  o*  the  conver* 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  133 

salion,  and  had  entertained  himself  by  draping 
Perley  in  the  shawl  from  the  tete-a-tete,  as  if  she 
had  been  a  lay-figure  for  some  crude  and  gorgeous 
design  which  he  failed  to  grasp.  Now  he  made  a 
Sibyl  of  her,  now  a  Deborah,  now  a  Maid  of  Or- 
leans, a  priestess,  a  princess,  a  Juno  ;  after  some 
reflection,  a  Grace  Darling  ;  after  more,  a  proph- 
etess at  prayer. 

"  Maverick !  we  must  have  a  library  in  our 
mills." 

"  Must  we  ? "  mused  Maverick,  extinguishing 
his  prophetess  in  a  gorgeous  turban. 

"  There  ;  how  will  that  do  ?  What  a  Nour- 
mahal  you  are  ! " 

"And  relief  societies,  and  half-time  schools, 
and  lectures,  and  reading-rooms,  and,  I  hope,  a 
dozen  better  things.  Those  will  only  do  to  start 
with." 

"  A  modest  request  —  for  Cophetua,  for  in- 
stance," said  Maverick,  dropping  the  shawl  in  a 
blazing  heap  at  her  feet. 

"  Maverick  !  I  *ve  been  a  lay-figure  in  life  long 
enough,  if  you  please.  Maverick,  Maverick !  I 
cannot  play  any  longer.  I  think  you  will  be  sorry 
if  you  play  with  me  any  longer." 


*34  The  Silent  Partner. 

Cophetua  said  this  with  knitted  brows.  Mav- 
erick tossed  the  shawl  away,  and  sat  down  beside 
her.  The  young  man's  face  also  had  a  wrinkle 
between  the  placid  eyes. 

"  Those  will  only  do  to  start  with,"  repeated 
Perley,  "  but  start  with  those  we  must.  And, 
Maverick,"  with  rising  color,  "  some  tenement- 
houses,  if  you  please,  that  are  fit  for  human  beings 
to  inhabit ;  more  particularly  human  beings  who 
pay  their  rentals  to  Christian  people." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Perley,"  said  her  lover,  pleas- 
antly, "  a  great  blunder  in  the  political  economy  of 
Hayle  and  Kelso  that  you  and  I  should  quarrel 
over  the  business.  Why  shouldwe  quarrel  over  the 
business  ?  It  is  the  last  subject  in  the  world  that 
collectively,  and  as  comfortable  and  amiable  en- 
gaged people,  can  concern  us.  If  you  must  amuse 
yourself  with  these  people,  and  must  run  athwart 
the  business,  go  to  father.  Have  you  been  to 
father  ? " 

"  I  had  a  long  talk  with  your  father,"  said  Per- 
ley, "  yesterday." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  said  something  about  Political  Economy  ; 
he  said  something  else  about  Supply  and  Demand 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  135 

He  said  something,  too,  about  the  State  of  the 
Market." 

"  He  said,  in  short,  that  we  cannot  afford  any 
more  experiments  in  philanthropy  on  this  town  of 
Five  Falls  ? " 

"  He  said,  in  short,  just  that." 

"  He  said,  undoubtedly,  the  truth.  It  would 
be  out  of  the  question.  Why,  we  ran  the  works 
at  a  dead  loss  half  of  last  year  ;  kept  the  hands 
employed,  and  paid  their  wages  regularly,  when 
the  stock  was  a  drug  in  the  market  and  lay  like 
lead  on  our  hands.  Small  thanks  we  get  for  that 
from  the  hands,  or  —  you." 

"  Your  machinery,  I  suppose,  would  not  have 
been  improved  by  lying  unused  ?  "  observed  Per- 
ley,  quietly. 

"  It  would  have  been  injured,  I  presume." 

"  And  it  has  been  found  worth  while,  from  a 
business  point  of  view,  to  retain  employes  even 
at  a  loss,  rather  than  to  scatter  them  ? " 

"  It  has  been,  perhaps,"  admitted  Maverick,  un- 
easily. "  One  would  think,  however,  Perley,  that 
you  thought  me  destitute  of  common  human- 
ity, just  because  you  cannot  understand  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  thousand  and  one  questions 


136  The  Silent  Partner. 

which  perplex  a  business  man.  I  own  that  I  do 
not  find  these  people  as  much  of  a  diversion  as 
you  do,  but  I  protest  that  I  do  not  abuse  them. 
They  go  about  their  business,  and  I  go  about 
mine.  Master  and  man  meet  on  business  grounds, 
and  business  grounds  alone.  Bub  Mell  and  a 
young  lady  with  nothing  else  to  do  may  meet, 
without  doubt,  upon  religious  grounds  ;  upon  the 
highest  religious  grounds." 

"These  improvements  which  I  suggest,"  pur- 
sued Perley,  waving  Maverick's  last  words  away 
with  her  left  hand  (it  was  without  ornament  an  ] 
had  a  little  bruise  upon  one  finger),  "  have  been 
successful  experiments,  all  of  them,  in  other  mills  ; 
most  of  them  in  the  great  Pacific.  Look  at  the 
great  Pacific ! " 

"The  great  Pacific  can  afford  them,"  said 
Maverick,  shortly.  "  That  's  the  way  with  our 
little  country  mills  always.  If  we  don't  bankrupt 
ourselves  by  reflecting  every  risk  that  the  great 
concerns  choose  to  run,  some  soft-hearted  and 
soft-headed  philanthropist  pokes  his  finger  into 
our  private  affairs,  and  behold,  there  's  a  hue  and 
cry  over  us  directly." 

"  For  a  little  country  mill,"  observed  Perley, 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  137 

making  certain  figures  in  the  air  with  her 
bruised  white  finger,  "  I  think,  if  I  may  judge 
from  my  own  income,  that  a  library  and  a  read- 
ing-room would  not  bankrupt  us,  at  least  this 
year.  However,  if  Hayle  and  Kelso  cannot 
afford  some  few  of  these  little  alterations,  I  think 
their  silent  partner  can." 

"  Very  well,"  laughed  Maverick  ;  "  we  '11  make 
the  money  and  you  may  spend  it." 

"  Maverick  Hayle,"  said  Perley,  after  a  silence, 
"  do  you  know  that  every  law  of  this  State  which 
regulates  the  admission  of  children  into  factories 
is  broken  in  your  mills  ?  " 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  Maverick. 

"  I  ask,"  insisted  Perley,  "  if  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Maverick,  with  a  smile  ;  "  I 
cannot  say  that  I  know  it  exactly.  I  know  that 
nobody  not  behind  the  scenes  can  conceive  of  the 
dodges  these  people  invent  to  scrape  and  screw 
a  few  dollars,  more  or  less,  out  of  their  children. 
As  a  rule,  I  believe  the  more  they  earn  them- 
selves the  more  they  scrape  and  screw.  I  know 
how  they  can  lie  about  a  child's  age.  Turn  a 
child  out  of  one  mill  for  his  three  months'  school- 
ing, and  he  's  in  another  before  night,  half  the 


138  ,  The  Silent  Partner. 

time.  Get  him  fairly  to  school,  and  I  Ve  known 
three  months'  certificates  begged  or  bribed  out 
of  a  school-mistress  at  the  end  of  three  weeks. 
Now,  what  can  I  do  ?  You  can't  expect  a  mill- 
master  to  have  the  time,  or  devote  it  to  running 
round  the  streets  compelling  a  few  Irish  babies 
to  avail  themselves  of  the  educational  privileges 
of  this  great  and  glorious  country !  " 

"  That  is  a  thing,"  observed  Perley,  "  that  I 
can  look  after  in  some  measure,  having,  as  you 
noticed,  nothing  else  to  do." 

"  That  is  a  thing,"  said  Maverick,  sharply, 
"which  I  desire,  Perley,  that  you  will  let  alone. 
I  must  leave  it  to  the  overseers,  or  we  shall 
be  plunged  into  confusion  worse  confounded. 
That  is  a  thing  which  I  must  insist  upon  it 
that  you  do  not  meddle  with." 

Perley  flushed  vividly.  The  little  scar  upon 
her  finger  flushed  too.  She  raised  it  to  her  lips 
as  if  it  pained  her. 

"  There  is  reason,"  urged  Maverick,  —  "  there 
is  reason  in  all  things,  even  in  a  young  lady's 
fancies.  Just  look  at  it !  You  run  all  over  Five 
Falls  alone  on  a  dark  night,  very  improperly, 
to  hear  mill-people  complain  of  their  drains, 


Mouldings  and  Bricks  139 

and  —  unrebuked  by  you  —  of  their  master.  You 
come  home  and  break  your  engagement  ring  and 
cut  your  finger.  Forthwith  you  must  needs  turn 
my  mill-hands  into  lap-dogs,  and  feed  them 
on  —  what  was  it  ?  roast  beef  ?  —  out  of  your 
jewelry-box ! " 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Perley,  faintly  smiling, 
"that  you  understand,  Maverick." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  understand,"  said  Maverick. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  repeated  Perley, 
firmly  but  faintly  still.  "  Maverick  !  Maverick  ! 
if  you  cannot  understand,  I  am  afraid  we  shall 
both  be  very  sorry  ! " 

Perley  got  up  and  crossed  the  room  two  or 
three  times.  There  was  a  beautiful  restlessness 
about  her  which  Maverick,  leaning  back  upon 
the  tete-d-tete,  with  his  mustache  between  his 
fingers,  noted  and  admired. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  pursued  Perley  in  a  low 
voice,  "  how  the  world  has  altered  to  me,  nor  how 
I  have  altered  to  myself,  within  the  past  few 
weeks.  I  have  no  words  to  say  how  these  people 
seem  to  me  to  have  been  thrust  upon  my  hands, 
—  as  empty,  idle,  foolish  hands,  God  knows,  as 
ever  he  filled  with  an  unsought  gift ! " 


140  The  Siknt  Partner. 

"  Now  I  thought,"  mentioned  Maverick,  grace- 
fully, "  that  both  the  people  and  the  hands  did 
well  enough  as  they  were." 

Perley  spread  out  the  shining  hands,  as  if  in 
appeal  or  pain,  and  cried  out,  as  before,  "  Maver- 
ick !  Maverick  !  "  but  hardly  herself  knowing, 
it  seemed,  why  she  cried. 

"  One  would  think,"  pursued  Maverick,  with  a 
jerk  at  his  mustache,  "  to  hear  and  to  see  you, 
Perley,  that  there  were  no  evils  in  the  country 
but  the  evils  of  the  factory  system  ;  that  there 
was  no  poverty  but  among  weavers  earning  ten 
dollars  a  week.  Questions  which  political  econo- 
mists spend  life  in  disputing,  you  expect  a  mill- 
master  —  " 

"  Who  does  n't  care  a  fig  about  them,"  inter- 
rupted Perley. 

"  Who  does  n't  care  a  fig  about  them,"  admitted 
the  mill-master,  "  you  are  right ;  between  you 
and  me,  you  are  right ;  who  does  n't  care  a  fig 
about  them  —  to  settle.  Now  there 's  father  ;  he 
is  aufait  in  all  these  matters  ;  has  a  theory  for 
every  case  of  whooping-cough,  —  and  a  mission 
school.  Once  for  all,  I  must  beg  to  have  it 
understood  that  I  turn  you  and  the  State  com- 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  141 

mittees  over  to  father.  You  should  hear  him 
talk  to  a  State  committee  ! " 

"And  yet,"  said  Perley,  sadly,  "your  father 
and  you  tie  my  hands  to  precisely  the  same  ex- 
tent by  different  methods." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Maverick,  "  really  ?  " 

"  He  with  Adam  Smith,  and  you  with  a  tete-a- 
tete.  He  is  too  learned,  and  you  are  too  lazy.  I 
have  not  been  educated  to  reason  with  him,  and 
I  suppose  I  am  too  fond  of  you  to  deal  with 
you,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  But,  Maverick, 
there  is  something  in  this  matter  which  neither 
of  you  touch.  There  is  something  about  the 
relations  of  rich  and  poor,  of  master  and  man, 
with  which  the  state  of  the  market  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do.  There  is  something,  —  a  claim, 
a  duty,  a  puzzle,  it  is  all  too  new  to  me  to  know 
what  to  call  it,  —  but  I  am  convinced  that  there 
is  something  at  which  a  man  cannot  lie  and  twirl 
his  mustache  forever." 

Being  a  woman,  and  having  no  mustache  to 
twirl,  urged  Maverick,  nothing  could  well  be  more 
natural  than  that  she  should  think  so.  An  appro- 
priate opinion,  and  very  charmingly  expressed. 
Should  he  order  the  horses  at  half  past  ten  ? 


142  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Maverick !  "  cried  Perley,  thrusting  out  hei 
hands  as  before,  and  as  before  hardly  knowing,  it 
seemed,  why  she  cried, — "  Maverick,  Maverick  !  " 

Possibly  it  was  a  week  later  that  the  new 
partner  called  one  evening  upon  Miss  Kelso. 

He  was  there,  he  said,  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Hayle  the  junior  ;  was  sorry  to  introduce  busi- 
ness into  a  lady's  parlor  ;  but  there  was  a  little 
matter  about  the  plans  — 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  hastily,  "  plans  of 
the  new  mill  ?  " 

"  A  plan  for  the  new  mill ;  yes.  Mr.  Hayle 
desired  your  opinion  about  some  mouldings,  I 
believe  ;  and,  as  I  go  in  town  to-morrow  to  meet 
an  appointment  with  the  architect,  it  fell  to  my 
lot  to  confer  with  you.  Mr.  Hayle  desired  me  to 
express  to  you  our  wish  —  I  think  he  said  our 
wish  —  that  any  preference  you  might  have  in 
the  ornamentation  of  the  building  should  be 
rigidly  regarded." 

"  Very  thoughtful  in  Mr.  Hayle,"  said  Perley, 
"and  characteristic.  Sit  down,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Garrick." 

He  was  a  grave  man,  this  Mr.  Garrick  ;  if  there 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  143 

were  a  biting  breath  in  the  young"  lady's  even 
voice,  if  a  curl  as  light  as  a  feather  fell  across  her 
unsmiling  mouth,  one  would  suppose  that  Stephen 
Garrick,  sitting  gravely  down  with  mill  plans  in 
his  hand,  beside  her,  was  the  last  man  upon  earth 
to  detect  either. 

"  Now,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  pulling  towards  her 
across  the  table  a  marvellous  green  mill  on  a 
gray  landscape,  with  full-grown  umber  shade- 
trees  where  a  sand  heap  rightfully  belonged,  and 
the  architect's  name  on  a  sign  above  the  counting- 
room,  "  what  is  this  vital  question  concerning 
which  Mr.  Hayle  desires  my  valuable  opinion  ? " 

"  The  question  is,  whether  you  would  prefer 
that  the  mouldings  —  here  is  a  section  ;  you  can 
See  the  design  better  about  this  door  —  should  be 
of  Gloucester  granite  or  not." 

"  Or  what  ?  "  asked  Perley. 

"  Or  not,"  said  Mr,  Garrick,  smiling. 

"  I  never  saw  you  smile  before,"  said  Miss 
Kelso,  abruptly,  tossing  away  the  plans.  "  I  did 
not  know  that  you  could.  It  is  like  —  " 

"  What  is  it  like  ? "  asked  Stephen  Garrick, 
smiling  again. 

"  It  is  like  making  a  burning-glass  out  of  a 


144  The  Silent  Partner. 

cast-iron  stove.  Excuse  me.  That  mill  has 
tumbled  over  the  edge  of  the  table,  Mr.  Garrick. 
Thank  you.  Is  Gloucester  granite  of  a  violet 
tint  ? " 

"  Outside  of  an  architect's  privileged  imagina- 
tion, not  exactly.  What  shall  I  tell  Mr.  Hayle  ?  " 

"  You  may  tell  Mr.  Hayle  that  I  do  not  care 
whether  the  mouldings  are  of  Gloucester  granite 
or  of  green  glass.  No ;  on  the  whole,  I  will  tell 
him  myself. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Garrick,"  said  Miss  Kelso  after 
an  awkward  pause,  "  when  you  are  a  woman  and 
a  silent  partner,  it  is  only  the  mouldings  of  a 
matter  that  fall  to  you." 

Mr.  Garrick  saw. 

"  And  so,"  piling  up  the  plans  upon  the  table 
thoughtfully,  "  you  become  a  little  sensitive  upon 
the  subject  of  mouldings.  You  would  so  much 
rather  be  a  brick-maker  ! " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Stephen  Garrick,  "  that  I 
have  been  what  you  would  call  a  brick-maker." 

"  I  suppose  you  have,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  still 
thoughtfully.  "  Mr.  Garrick  ? " 

Mr.  Garrick  lifted  his  grave  face  inquiringly. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  very  poor  ? * 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  145 

"  Very  poor." 

"  And  now  you  will  be  very  rich.  That  must 
be  a  singular  life  !  " 

"  It  is  in  some  respects  a  dangerous  life,  Miss 
Kelso." 

"It  is  in  other  respects  a  privileged  life,  Mr. 
Garrick." 

"  It  is  proverbial  of  men  with  my  history," 
said  Garrick,  slowly, — "  men  who  have  crawled  on 
their  hands  and  knees  from  the  very  quagmires 
of  life,  —  men  who  know,  as  no  other  men  can 
know,  that  the  odds  are  twenty  to  one  when  a 
poor  man  makes  a  throw  in  the  world's  play  —  " 

"  Are  they  ? "  interrupted  the  lady. 

"  Twenty  to  one,"  said  Stephen  Garrick,  in  a 
dry  statistical  tone,  "  against  poverty,  always.  It 
is  proverbial,  I  say,  that  men  who  know  as  God 
knows  that  it  is  by  '  him  who  hath  no  money ' 
that  the  upright,  downright,  unmistakable  mis- 
eries of  life  are  drained  to  the  dregs,  —  that  such 
men  prove  to  be  the  hardest  of  masters  and  the 
most  conservative  of  social  reformers.  It  has  been 
the  fancy  of  my  life,  I  may  say  that  it  has  been 
more  like  a  passion  than  a  fancy,"  said  the  parvenu 
in  Hayle  and  Kelso,  laying  his  hard  hand  hardly 
7  J 


146  The  Silent  Partner. 

clenched  upon  the  colored  plates  that  Perley  had 
piled  up  beside  him,  "  as  fast  and  as  far  as  I  got 
out  of  the  mud  myself  to  bring  other  people  with 
me.  I  cannot  find  any  dainty  words  in  which  to 
put  this,  Miss  Kelso,  for  it  is  a  very  muddy  thing 
to  be  poor." 

"  I  have  thought  it  —  but  very  lately  —  to  be 
a  hard  thing,"  said  Perley. 

The  hard  lines  about  Stephen  Garrick's  mouth 
worked,  but  he  said  nothing.  Perley,  looking  up 
suddenly,  saw  what  hard  lines  they  were ;  and 
when  he  met  her  look  he  smiled,  and  she 
thought  what  a  pleasant  smile  it  was. 

"Mr.  Garrick,  do  you  think  it  is  possible, — 
this  thing  of  which  you  speak  ?  Possible  to  be 
Hayle  and  Kelso,  and  yet  to  pick  people  out  of 
the  mud  ? " 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  possible" 

"  You  are  not  in  an  easy  position,  it  strikes 
me,  Mr.  Garrick." 

"  It  strikes  me  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  that 
you  are  not  in  another,  Miss  Kelso." 

Stephen  Garrick  took  his  leave  with  this ; 
wisely,  perhaps  ;  would  have  taken  his  leave  with 
a  gravely  formal  bow,  but  that  Miss  Kelso  held 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  147 

out  to  him  a  sudden,  warm,  impulsive  woman's 
hand. 

Walking  home  with  his  pile  of  colored  plans 
under  his  arm,  Mr.  Garrick  fell  in  with  two  of  the 
mill-people,  the  young  watchman  Burdock  and  a 
girl  whom  he  did  not  recognize.  He  said,  What  a 
pleasant  evening  for  a  walk  it  was  !  as  he  went 
by  them,  cheerily. 

"  It 's  nothing  to  say  '  A  pleasant  evening,'  I 
know,"  said  Dirk  as  he  passed  them  ;  "  but  it 's  a 
way  I  like  about  Mr.  Garrick.  A  man  thinks 
better  of  himself  for  it ;  feels  as  if  he  was  some- 
body—  almost.  I  mean  to  be  somebody  yet,  Sip." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Sip,  with  a  patient  smile.  He 
said  it  so  often !  She  had  so  little  faith  that  he 
would  ever  do  any  more  than  say  it. 

"  It's  a  hard  rut  to  wrench  out  of,  Dirk,  —  the 
mills.  How  many  folks  I  've  seen  try  to  get  out 
of  the  mills !  They  always  came  back." 

"  But  they  don't  always  come  back,  Sip.  Look 
at  Stephen  Garrick." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Sip  patiently,  "  I  know  they 
don't  always  come  back,  and  I  Ve  looked  at  Ste- 
phen Garrick ;  but  the  folks  as  I  knew  came 
back.  I  'd  go  back  I  know  I  should." 


148  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  It  would  be  never  you  that  would  go  back," 
urged  Dirk,  anxiously.  "  You  're  the  last  girl  I 
know  for  that." 

Sip  shook  her  head.  "  It 's  in  the  blood,  may- 
be. I  know  I  should  go  back.  What  a  kind  of 
a  pleasantness  there  is  about  the  night,  Dirk  ! " 

There  was  somehow  a  great  pleasantness  to 
Sip  about  the  nights  when  she  had  a  walk  with 
Dirk  ;  she  neither  understood  nor  questioned 
how  ;  not  a  passion,  only  a  pleasantness  ;  she  no- 
ticed that  the  stars  were  out ;  she  was  apt  to  hear 
the  tiny  trail  of  music  that  the  cascades  made 
above  the  dam  ;  she  saw  twice  as  many  lighted 
windows  with  the  curtains  up  as  she  did  when 
she  walked  alone  ;  if  the  ground  were  wet,  it  did 
did  not  trouble  her  ;  if  the  ground  were  dry,  it 
had  a  cool  touch  upon  her  feet ;  if  there  were  a 
geranium  anywhere  upon  a  window-sill,  it  pleased 
her ;  if  a  child  laughed,  she  liked  the  sound  ;  if 
Catty  had  been  lost  since  supper,  she  felt  sure  that 
they  should  find  her  at  the  next  corner  ;  if  she 
had  her  week's  ironing  to  do  when  she  got  home, 
she  forgot  it  ;  if  a  rough  word  sprang  to  her  lips, 
it  did  not  drop  ;  if  her  head  ached,  she  smiled  ; 
if  a  boy  twanged  a  jew's-harp,  she  could  have 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  149 

danced  to  it  ;  if  poor  little  Nynee  Mell  flitted 
jealously  by  with  Jim,  in  her  blue  ribbons,  she 
could  sit  down  and  cry  softly  over  her,  —  such  a 
gentleness  there  was  about  the  night. 

It  was  only  pleasantness  and  gentleness  that 
ever  lay  between  her  and  Dirk.  Sip  never 
flushed  or  frowned,  never  pouted  or  coquetted 
at  her  sparse  happiness  ;  it  might  be  said  that 
she  never  hoped  or  dreamed  about  it ;  it  might 
even  be  that  the  doggedness  of  her  litt'<  brown 
face  came  over  it  or  into  it,  and  that  i',  was  not 
without  a  purpose  that  she  neither  d/eamed  nor 
hoped.  Miss  Kelso  sometimes  Wf/.dered.  Dirk 
dully  perplexed  himself  about  hen  now  and  then. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Sip,  as  they  came  into  the  yard 
of  the  damp  stone  house,  "  that  you  'd  look  in  at 
the  window  for  me  a  minute,  Dirk." 

"  What  shall  I  look  at  ? "  said  Dirk,  stepping 
up  softly  to  the  low  sill,  "  her  ?  " 

Catty  was  in  view  fiotri  the  window  ;  sitting  on 
the  floor  with  her  feet  crossed,  stringing  very 
large  yellow  beads  ;  she  did  this  slowly,  and  with 
some  hesitation  ;  now  and  then  a  kind  of  ill-tem- 
pered fright  seemed  to  fall  upon  her  repulsive 
face ;  once  or  twice  she  dropped  the  toys,  and 


150  The  Silent  Partner. 

once  she  dashed  them  with  a  little  snarl  like  an 
annoyed  animal's  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  give  them  to  her  to  try  her,"  whispered  Sip. 
"Do  you  see  anything  about  her  that  is  new? 
anything,  Dirk,  that  you  never  took  a  notice  of 
before  ? " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Dirk,  "  I  don't  see  nothin'  un- 
common. What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  It 's  nothing  only  a  fear  I  had. 
Never  mind  ! " 

Sip  drew  a  sudden  long  breath,  and  turned 
away. 

Now  it  was  pleasant  to  Sip  to  share  even  a  fear 
with  Dirk. 

"  Look  in  again,"  she  said,  with  a  low  laugh, 
"  over  on  the  wall  beyond  Catty.  Look  what  is 
hanging  on  the  wall." 

"  O,  that  big  picture  over  to  the  left  of  the 
chiny-closet  ?  "  Dirk  pointed  to  the  Beetho- 
ven dreaming  wildly  in  the  dingy  little  room. 

"  A  little  to  the  left  of  the  cupboard,  —  yes. 
One  night  I  walked  in  and  found  it,  Dirk  !  She 
hung  it  there  for  me  to  walk  in  and  find.  I  laid 
awake  till  three  o'clock  next  morning,  I  laid  and 
looked  at  it.  I  don't  know  anybody  but  you, 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  151 

Dirk,  as  could  guess  what  a  strangeness  and  a 
forgetting  it  makes  about  the  room." 

Now  it  was  very  new  to  Sip  to  have  a  "  forget- 
ting "  that  she  could  share  with  even  Dirk. 

"  It  looks  like  the  Judgment  Day,"  said  Dirk, 
looking  over  Catty's  head  at  the  plunging  dream 
and  the  solitary  dreamer. 

There  chanced  that  night  two  uncommon  oc- 
currences ;  for  one,  the  watchman  at  the  Old 
Stone  was  sleepy ;  for  another,  Miss  Kelso  was 
not. 

The  regulations  in  Hayle  and  Kelso  were  inex- 
orable at  night.  Two  fires  and  three  drunken 
watchmen  within  the  limits  of  a  year  had  put  it 
out  of  the  question  to  temper  justice  with  mercy. 
To  insure  the  fidelity  of  the  watch,  he  was  re- 
quired to  strike  the  hour  with  the  factory  bell 
from  nine  at  night  till  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Now  upon  the  night  in  question  Miss  Kelso's 
little  silver  clock  struck  twelve,  but  the  great 
tongue  of  the  Old  Stone  did  not.  In  perhaps 
twenty  minutes,  Old  Stone  woke  up  with  a  jerk, 
and  rang  in  the  midnight  stoutly. 

To  be  exact,  I  should  have  said  that  there 
chanced  that  night  three  uncommon  occurrences. 


152  The  Silent  Partner. 

For  that  a  young  lady  should  get  up  on  a 
chilly  and  very  dark  spring  midnight,  dress  her- 
self, steal  down  stairs,  unlock  the  front  door,  and 
start  off  alone  to  walk  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and 
save  a  sleepy  young  watchman  from  disgrace,  is 
not,  it  must  be  allowed,  so  characteristic  an 
event  as  naturally  to  escape  note. 

It  happened,  furthermore,  that  it  did  not  es- 
cape the  note  of  the  new  partner,  coming  out 
on  precisely  the  same  errand  at  the  same  time. 
They  met  at  the  lady's  gate  :  she  just  passing 
through,  he  walking  rapidly  by ;  she  with  a  smile, 
he  with  a  start. 

"  Miss  Kelso  !  " 

"  Mr.  Garrick  ?  " 

"  Is  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  With  the  watchman  ?  Yes,  or  will  be.  I  had 
hoped  I  was  the  only  person  who  knew  that  mid- 
night came  in  at  twenty  minutes  past  twelve." 

"  And  I  had  hoped  that  I  was." 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  in  you,  Mr.  Garrick," 
said  Perley,  heartily, 

He  did  not  say  that  it  was  thoughtful  in  her. 
He  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  shiver- 
ing and  smiling,  with  her  hand  upon  the  gato,  — 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  153 

the  bare  hand  on  which  the  bruise  had  been. 
He  would  have  liked  to  say  what  he  thought 
it,  but  it  struck  him  as  a  difficult  thing  to  do. 
Graceful  words  came  so  hardly  to  him ;  he  felt 
this  hardly  at  the  moment. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  leave  the  boy  to  you  then," 
said  Perley,  slowly. 

"  You  are  taking  cold,"  said  the  mill-master,  in 
his  hard  way.  It  was  very  dark  where  they 
stood,  yet  not  so  dark  but  that  he  could  see,  in 
bowing  stiffly,  how  Miss  Kelso,  with  her  bruised 
hand  upon  the  gate,  shot  after  him  a  warm,  sweet, 
impulsive  woman's  smile. 

Dirk  was  sitting  ruefully  upon  an  old  boiler 
in  the  mill-yard.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  when  Mr. 
Garrick  came  up.  When  he  saw  who  it  was,  the. 
boy  went  white  to  the  lips. 

"  Burdock,  the  bell  was  not  struck  to-night  at 
twelve  o'clock." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Dirk,  desperately  making 
his  last  throw. 

"  Not  at  twelve  o'clock." 

"  Punctually,  sir,  you  may  be  sure  ;  I  never 
missed  a  bell  in  Hayle  and  Kelso  yet." 

"The  bell  rang,"  observed  Mr.  Garrick,  with 


154  The  Silent  Partner. 

quiet  sternness,  "  at  twenty-one  minutes  past 
midnight,  exactly." 

"  Mr.  Garrick  —  "  begged  the  watchman,  but 
stammered  and  stopped. 

"  Of  course  you  know  the  consequences,"  said 
the  master,  more  gently,  sitting  down  upon  the 
rusty  boiler  beside  the  man,  "  of  a  miss  in  the 
bell,  —  of  a  single  miss  in  a  bell." 

"  I  should  think  I  'd  been  in  Hayle  and  Kelso 
long  enough  to  know,"  said  Dirk,  with  his  head 
between  his  knees.  "  Mr.  Garrick,  upon  my  word 
and  honor,  I  never  slept  on  watch  before.  I  was 
kind  of  beat  out  to-night."  The  truth  was,  that 
Dirk  had  been  carrying  in  coal  for  Sip  half  the 
afternoon.  "  Had  n't  so  much  sleep  as  common 
to-day  ;  »but  that 's  no  excuse  for  me,  I  know." 
He  thought  he  would  not  say  anything  about 
the  coal.  "  I  would  n't  ha'  cared  so  much  about 
keepin'  the  place,"  broke  forth  the  young  man, 
passionately,  "  but  for  a  reason  I  had,  —  I  worked 
so  hard  for  the  place !  and  so  long,  sir  !  And, 
God  knows,  sir,  I  had  such  a  reason  for  lookin' 
on  to  keep  the  place  ! " 

"  Infidelity  on  the  part  of  a  watchman,  you  see, 
Burdock,"  urged  the  master,  "  is  not  a  matter  that 
his  employer  can  dally  with." 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  155 

"  I  'm  no  fool,  sir,"  said  the  man  ;  "  I  see  that 
Of  course  I  look  to  lose  the  place." 

"  Suppose  1  were  to  offer  to  you,  with  a  repri- 
mand and  warning,  the  trial  of  the  place  again  ?  " 

"  Sir  ! "  Dirk's  head  came  up  like  a  diver's 
from  between  his  knees.  "  You  're  —  your  're 
good  to  me,  sir !  I  —  I  did  n't  look  for  that, 
sir  ! " 

Mr.  Garrick  made  no  reply,  but  got  up  and 
paced  to  and  fro  between  the  boiler  and  a  little 
old,  disused  cotton-house  that  stood  behind  it, 
absorbed  in  thought. 

"  Mr.  Garrick,"  said  the  watchman,  suddenly, 
"  did  you  get  out  of  bed  and  come  over  here  to 
save  the  place  for  me  ?  " 

"  For  some  such  reason,  I  believe." 

"  Mr.  Garrick,  I  did  n't  look  to  be  treated  like 
\ha.L  I  thank  you,  sir.  Mr.  Garrick  —  " 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  master,  stopping  his  walk 
between  the  boiler  and  the  cotton-house. 

"  I  told  you  the  first  lie,  sir,  that  I  've  told  any 
man  since  I  lied  sick  to  stay  to  home  from  the 
warping-room,  when  I  was  n't  much  above  that 
boiler  there  in  highness.  I  think  I  'd  not  have 
been  such  a  sneak,  sir,  but  for  the  reason  that  I 
had." 


156  The  Silent  Partner. 

It  seemed  that  the  master  said  "  Well  ? "  again, 
though  in  fact  he  said  nothing,  but  only  stood 
between  the  boiler  and  the  cotton-house,  gravely 
looking  at  the  man. 

"There's  a  —  girl  I  know,"  said  Dirk,  wiping 
rust  from  his  hands  upon  his  blue  overalls,  "  I 
don't  think,  sir,  there  's  a  many  like  her,  I  don't 
indeed." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Stephen  Garrick,  restlessly  pacing 
to  and  fro  again,  in  the  narrow  limit  that  the 
boiler  and  the  cotton-house  shut  in. 

"  I  don't  indeed,  sir.  And  I  've  always  looked 
to  being  somebody,  and  pushin'  in  the  mills  on 
account  of  her.  And  I  should  have  took  it  very 
hard  to  lose  the  place,  sir,  —  on  account  of  her. 
There  don't  seem  to  be  what  you  might  call  a 
fair  chance  for  a  man  in  the  mills,  Mr.  Garrick." 

"  No,  not  what  might  be  called  a  fair  chance,  I 
think,"  said  Mr.  Garrick. 

"  Not  comparing  with  some  other  calls  in  life, 
it  don't  seem  to  me,"  urged  Dirk,  disconsolately. 
"  The  men  to  the  top  they  stay  to  the  top,  and 
the  men  to  the  bottom  they  stay  to  the  bottom. 
There  is  n't  a  many  sifts  up  like  yourself,  sir. 
It 's  like  a  strawberry-box  packed  for  market,  the 


Mouldings  and  Bricks.  157 

factory  trade  is.  And  when  there 's  a  reason, 
• —  and  a  girl  comes  into  the  account,  it 's  none 
so  easy." 

"  No,  it 's  not  easy,  I  grant  you,  Burdock. 
What  a  place  this  is  to  spend  a  night  in  !  " 

"  A  kind  of  a  churchly  place,"  said  the  young 
watchman,  glancing  over  the  cotton-house  at  the 
purple  shadow  that  the  mill  made  against  the 
purple  sky  ;  and  at  purple  shadows  that  the  si- 
lent village  made,  and  the  river,  and  the  bridge. 
"  Takin'  in  the  screech  of  the  dam,  it 's  a  solemn 
place  ;  a 'place  where  if  a  man  knows  a  reason, — 
or  a  girl,  he  thinks  o'  't.  It 's  a  place  where,  if  a 
man  has  ever  any  longin's  for  things  't  he  can 
call  hisn,  —  wife,  and  home,  and  children,  and 
right  and  might  to  make  'em  comfortable,  you 
know,  —  he  '11  consider  of  'em.  It  is  a  kind  of  a 
surprising  thing,  sir,  —  the  feelin's  that  a  man 
will  have  for  a  good  woman." 

"A  surprising  thing,"  said  Stephen  Garrick 


158  The  Silent  Partner 


CHAPTER    VIL 

CHECKMATE ! 

"  T    DO  not  love  you,  Maverick  Hayle." 

•*-  May  sweetness  was  in  the  breakfast-room ; 
broken,  warm  airs  from  the  river  ;  a  breath  of 
yellow  jonquils,  and  a  shadow  of  a  budding  bough  ; 
on  a  level  with  the  low  window-sill  a  narcissus 
with  a  red  eye  winked  steadily.  The  little  silver 
service  was  in  the  breakfast-room,  in  sharp 
rilievo  against  a  mourning-dress  and  the  curve  of 
a  womanly,  warm  arm.  Maverick  Hayle,  struck 
dumb  upon  his  feet,  where  he  stood  half  pushing 
back  his  chair,  was  in  the  breakfast-room. 

On  either  side  of  the  tiny  teapot  the  man's 
face  and  the  woman's  lay  reflected  ;  it  was  a 
smooth,  octagonal  little  teapot,  and  the  two  faces 
struck  upon  it  without  distortion ;  hung,  like 
delicate  engraving,  as  if  cut  into  the  pretty  toy. 
There  was  something  very  cosey  and  homelike 
about  this  senseless  little  teapot,  and  there  was 


Checkmate!  159 

something  very  lonely  and  cold  about  the  man's 
face  and  the  woman's,  fixed  and  separated  by  the 
wee  width  of  the  polished  thing. 

Both  faces  in  the  teapot  were  a  trifle  pale. 
Both  faces  out  of  the  teapot  were  a  trifle  paler. 

"  It  is  not  possible ! "  exclaimed  the  man, 
instinctively. 

"It  is  quite  possible,"  explained  the  woman, 
calmly. 

His  face  in  the  teapot  flushed  now  scorching 
red.  Hers  in  the  teapot  only  whitened  visibly. 

The  young  man  flung  himself  back  into  his 
chair  and  ground  his  teeth.  The  young  woman 
sat  and  looked  at  the  teapot  and  trembled. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,  Perley ! "  said  her  plighted 
husband,  fiercely. 

"  I  do  not  love  you,  Maverick,"  repeated  Perley, 
firmly.  "  I  have  been  afraid  of  it  for  a  long  time. 
I  am  very  certain  of  it  now.  Maverick,  Maverick, 
I  am  very  sorry  !  I  told  you  we  should  both  be 
very  sorry  !  But  you  could  not  understand." 

"  If  it  was  your  foolish  furor  over  a  parcel  of 
factory-girls  that  I  could  not  understand  — " 
began  Maverick. 

But  Perley  sternly  stopped  him. 


160  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Never  mind  about  the  poor  little  factory-girls, 
Maverick.  It  is  you  that  I  do  not  love." 

This  was  a  thrust  which  even  Maverick  Hayle 
could  not  lightly  parry ;  he  was  fond  of  Perley 
and  fond  of  himself,  and  he  writhed  in  his  chair 
as  if  it  actually  hurt  him. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  nor  why  it  is,"  said 
Perley,  sadly,  "  but  I  feel  as  if  there  had  been  a 
growing  away  between  us  for  a  great  while.  It 
may  be  that  I  went  away  and  you  stood  still ;  or 
that  we  both  went  away  and  both  in  different 
ways  ;  or  that  we  had  never,  Maverick,  been  in 
the  same  way  at  all,  and  did  not  know  it.  You 
kissed  me,  and  I  did  not  know  it !  " 

"  And  if  I  kiss  you  again,  you  will  not  know 
it,"  said  Maverick,  with  an  argument  of  smoth- 
ered passion  in  his  voice. 

"  I  would  rather,"  said  the  lady,  evenly,  "  that 
you  did  not  kiss  me  again." 

Her  face  in  the  teapot  shone  as  if  a  silver  veil 
fell  over  it.  His  face  in  the  teapot  clouded  and 
dropped. 

"  We  have  loved  each  other  for  a  long  time, 
Perley,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  A  long  time,"  said  Perley,  sorrowfully. 


Checkmate!  161 

"And  were  very  happy." 

"  Very  happy." 

"  And  should  have  had  —  I  had  thought  we 
should  have  had  such  a  pleasant  life  ! " 

"  A  miserable  life,  Maverick  ;  a  most  miserable 
life." 

"  What  in  Heaven's  name  has  come  over  you, 
Perley  ! "  expostulated  the  young  man.  "  There 
is  no  other  man  —  " 

"  No  other  man,"  said  Perley,  thoughtfully, 
"  could  come  between  you  and  me.  I  do  not  see, 
Maverick,  how  I  could  ever  speak  of  love  to  any 
other  man."  This  she  said  with  her  head  bent, 
and  with  grave,  far-reaching  eyes.  "  A  woman 
cannot  do  that  thing.  I  mean  there  's  nothing  in 
me  that  understands  how  she  can  do  it.  I  was 
very  fond  of  you,  Maverick." 

"  That  is  a  comfort  to  me  now,"  said  Maverick, 
bitterly. 

"  I  was  fond  of  you,  Maverick.  I  promised  to 
be  your  wife.  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  say  that 
to  another  man.  The  power  to  say  it  has  gone 
with  the  growing  away.  There  was  the  love 
and  the  losing,  and  now  there's  only  the  sorrow. 
I  gave  you  all  I  had  to  give.  You  used  it  up,  I 


1 62  The  Silent  Partner. 

think.  But  the  growing-away  came  just  the 
same.  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  You  women  do  not  understand  yourselves 
any  better  than  you  do  the  rest  of  the  world  ! " 
exclaimed  the  rejected  lover  with  a  bewildered 
face.  "  Why  should  we  grow  away  ?  You  have 
n't  thought  how  you  will  miss  me." 

"  I  shall  miss  you,"  said  Perley.  "  Of  course  I 
shall  miss  you,  Maverick.  So  I  should  miss  the 
piano,  if  it  were  taken  out  of  the  parlor." 

Maverick  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  felt  more 
humiliated  than  pained,  as  was  natural.  When 
a  man  becomes  only  an  elegant  piece  of  furni- 
ture in  a  woman's  life,  to  be  dusted  at  times, 
and  admired  at  others,  and  shoved  up  garret  at 
last  by  remorseless  clean  fingers  that  wipe  the 
cobwebs  of  him  off,  it  will  be  generally  found 
that  he  endures  the  annoyance  of  neglected  fur- 
niture —  little  more.  The  level  that  we  strike  in 
the  soul  that  touches  us  most  nearly  is  almost 
sure  to  be  the  high-water  mark  of  our  own. 

Now  Maverick,  it  will  be  seen,  struck  no  tide- 
mark  in  Perley.  It  had  never  been  possible  for 
him  to  say  to  the  woman,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou 
go."  Men  say  that  to  women,  and  women  to 


Checkmate!  163 

men.  The  flood  mistakes  a  nilometer  for  a 
boundary  line,  placidly.  It  is  one  of  the  bitter- 
sweet blunders  of  love,  that  we  can  stunt  our- 
selves irretrievably  for  the  loved  one's  sake,  and 
be  only  a  little  sadder,  but  never  the  wiser, 
for  it. 

Perley  Kelso  thus  swept  herself  over  and 
around  her  plighted  husband  ;  and  in  her  very 
fulness  lay  his  content.  He  would  probably 
have  loved  her  without  a  question,  and  rested  in 
her,  without  a  jar,  to  his  dying  day.  A  man 
often  so  loves  and  so  rests  in  a  superior  woman. 
He  thinks  himself  to  be  the  beach  against  which 
she  frets  herself;  he  is  the  wreck  which  she  has 
drowned. 

Maverick  Hayle,  until  this  morning  in  the 
breakfast-room,  had  loved  Perley  in  this  unrea- 
sonable, unreasoning,  and,  I  believe,  irreclaimable 
masculine  manner  ;  had  accepted  her  as  serenely 
as  a  child  would  accept  the  Venus  de  Milo  for  a 
ninepin.  One  day  the  ninepin  will  not  roll. 
There  is  speculation  in  the  beautiful  dead  eyes 
of  the  marble.  The  game  is  stopped.  He 
gathers  up  his  balls  and  sits  down  breathless. 

"  But  you  love  me ! "  cries  the  player.      "  It 


164  The  Silent  Partner. 

must  be  that  you  love  me  at  times.  It  must  be 
that  you  will  love  me  in  moods  and  minutes, 
Perley.  I  cannot  have  gone  forever  out  of  all 
the  moods  and  minutes  of  your  life.  I  have 
filled  it  too  long." 

He  filled  it,  forsooth  !  Perley  slightly,  slowly, 
sadly  smiled. 

"  If  there  is  any  love  in  the  world,  Maverick, 
that  ought  to  be  independent  of  moods  and 
master  of  all  moods,  it  is  the  love  that  people 
marry  on.  Now  I  'm  neither  very  old  nor  very 
wise,  but  I  am  old  enough  and  wise  enough  to 
understand  that  it  is  only  that  part  of  me  which 
gets  tired,  and  has  the  blues,  and  minds  an 
easterly  storm,  and  has  a  toothache,  and  wants 
to  be  amused,  and  wants  excitement,  and  —  some- 
body the  other  side  of  a  silver  teapot  —  which 
loves  you.  /  do  not  love  you,  Maverick  Hayle  1 " 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Maverick,  after  a  pause, 
"  it  is  rather  awkward  for  me  to  be  sitting  here 
any  longer." 

"A  little." 

"  And  I  might  as  well  take  your  blessing  — 
and  my  hat." 

"  Good  by,"  said    Perley,  very  sadly. 


Checkmate!  165 

"  Good  by,"  said  Maverick,  very  stiffly. 

"  You  '11  tell  your  father  ? "  asked  the  young 
lady. 

"  We  're  in  an  awkward  fix  all  around,"  said 
the  young  man,  shortly.  "  I  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  make  up  our  minds  to  that." 

"  But  you  and  I  need  not  be  on  awkward 
terms,  —  need  we  ?  "  asked  Perley. 

"  Of  course  not.  '  Mutual  thing ;  and  part 
excellent  friends,'  "  bitingly  from  Maverick. 

"  But  I  shall  always  be  —  a  little  fond  of  you  !  " 
urged  the  woman,  with  a  woman's  last  clutch  at 
the  pleasantness  of  an  old  passion. 

"  Perley,"  said  Maverick,  suddenly  holding  out 
his  hand,  "  I  won't  be  cross  about  it.  I  've 
never  deserved  that  you  should  be  any  more 
than  a  little  fond  of  me.  You  Ve  done  the  hon- 
orable thing  by  me,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
thank  you." 

He  shut  the  door  of  the  breakfast-room  upon  a 
breath  of  yellow  jonquils,  and  a  shadow  of  a  bud- 
ding bough,  and  the  narcissus  winking  steadily ; 
upon  the  little  silver  service,  and  the  curving, 
womanly,  warm  arm,  and  the  solitary  face  that 
hung  engraved  upon  the  senseless  little  teapot. 


1 66  The  Siknt  Partner 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

A     TROUBLESOME     CHARACTER. 

D  Bijah  Mudge  stepped  painfully  over  a 
tub  of  yellow  ochre  and  crossed  the  print- 
room  at  the  overseer's  beck.  There  had  been  an 
order  of  some  kind,  but  he  was  growing  deaf,  and 
the  heavy  engines  were  on.  The  overseer  re- 
peated it. 

"Sir?" 

"  I  said  your  notice,  did  n't  I  ?  I  say  your 
lotice,  don't  I  ?  You  '11  work  your  notice,  you 
will." 

"  A-a-ah  !"  said  Bijah,  drawing  a  long  breath. 
He  stood  and  knotted  his  lean  fingers  together, 
watching  the  yellow  dye  drop  off. 

"  Is  there  a  reason  given,  sir  ?  " 

"  No  reason." 

"  Folks  my  age  ain't  often  ordered  on  notice 
without  reason,"  said  the  old  man,  feebly. 

"  Folks  your  age  should  be   more   particular 


A   Troublesome  Character.         167 

how  they  give  satisfaction,"  said  the  overseer, 
significantly. 

"  I  Ve  known  o'  cases  as  where  a  boss  has 
guessed  at  a  reason,  on  his  own  hook,  you  know 
Jim." 

Irish  Jim  was  in  the  print-rooms  at  Hayle  and 
Kelso  at  that  time.  Some  said  the  new  partner 
had  a  finger  in  getting  him  out  of  the  weaving- 
room.  It  was  a  sharp  fellow,  and  belonged  some- 
where. Here  he  would  be  brutal  to  old  men  and 
little  boys ;  but  there  were  no  girls  in  the  print- 
room. 

"  Oh  his  own  hook  and  at  a  guess,"  said  the 
"boss,"  "a  man  might  ask  who  testified  to  Bos- 
ton on  a  recent  little  hour-bill  as  we  know  of." 

"  /  testified,"  cried  the  old  man,  shrilly,  "  be- 
fore a  committee  of  the  Legislature  of  the  State 
of  Massachusetts.  I  'd  do  it  ag'in,  Jim  !  In  the 
face  of  my  notice,  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  At  the  risk 
o'  the  poor-us,  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  I  call  Hayle  and 
Kelso  to  witness  as  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  In  the  name 
of  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  " 

"  Do  it  again  ! "  said  Jim,  with  a  brutal  oath. 
*  Who  hinders  you  ?  " 

"  But  there  were  no  reasons  !  "  added  the  over- 


1 68  The  Silent  Partner. 

seer,  sharply.  "  You  fail  to  give  satisfaction, 
that 's  all ;  there  's  no  reasons." 

"  I  am  an  old  man  to  be  turned  out  o'  work 
sudden,  sir."  The  thin  defiance  in  Bijah's  voice 
broke.  He  made  an  obsequious  little  bow  to 
the  Irishman,  wringing  his  dyed  hands  dry,  and 
lifting  them  xweakly  by  turns  to  his  mouth. 
"  It 's  not  always  easy  for  an  old  man  to  get 
work,  sir." 

But  Jim  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  print- 
room,  having  some  trouble  with  the  crippled 
tender,  who  always  spilled  the  violet  dye.  The 
boy  had  cut  himself  upon  a  "  doctor,"  it  seemed, 
to-day.  Bijah  saw  blood  about,  and  felt  faint, 
and  slunk  away. 

"  Can  I  have  work  ?  " 
"  What  can  you  do  ? " 
"  Anything." 
"  Where  from  ?  " 
"Five  Falls." 
"Hayle  and  Kelso?" 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"You  talk  like  a  man  with  a  toothache." 
"  Ay  ?     Folks  has  told  me  that   before.     An 
old  habit,  sir." 


A   Troublesome  Character.         169 

"  You  have  been  printing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  For  three  months  ? " 

"  Just  about,  sir." 

"  There 's  yellow  ochre  on  your  clothes,  I 
see." 

"  I  Ve  none  better,  sir.  I  —  I  'd  not  have  trav- 
elled in  my  working-close  if  I  'd  had  better  ;  I  'd 
not  have  done  it  once.  But  I  'm  an  old  man,  and 
out  of  work." 

"  Your  name  is  Bijah  Mudge  ? " 

"  I  'd  not  told  you  my  name,  sir." 

"  No,  you  'd  not  told  your  name ;  but  you  're 
Bijah  Mudge.  We  've  got  no  work  for  you." 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  sir." 

"You're  a  troublesome  character,  sir." 

"  I  'm  quite  out  of  work,  sir." 

"  You  '11  stay  quite  out  as  far  as  we  're  con- 
cerned. We  've  got  no  place  for  you,  I  say,  on 
this  corporation." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  bowing  with  grim  courtesy. 
"  Good  evening,  sir.  I  can  try  elsewhere." 

"  O  yes,"  with  a  slight  laugh,  "  you  can  try 
elsewhere." 

"  It 's  a  free  country,  sir  ! "  cried  the  trouble- 


1 70  The  Silent  Partner. 

some   character,   in   a  little   spirit   of  his   shrill 
defiance. 

"  O  yes  ;  it 's  a  free  country,  without  doubt ; 
quite  right.  You  '11  see  the  door  at  your  left,  there. 
—  Patrick !  the  door.  Show  the  man  the  door." 

"  And  this  is  the  end  on  't." 

The  old  man  said  that  to  Perley  Kelso  three 
weeks  later.  He  said  it  in  bed  in  the  old  men's 
ward  of  the  almshouse  at  Five  Falls.  There  was 
a  chair  beside  the  bed. 

The  room  was  full  of  beds  with  chairs  beside 
them.  These  beds  and  chairs  ran  in  a  line  along 
the  wall,  numbered  nicely.  In  general,  when  you 
had  taken  possession  of  your  bed,  your  chair,  and 
your  number,  and  sat  or  lay  with  folded,  thin 
hands  and  gazed  about  with  weak,  bleared  eyes, 
and  so  sat  or  lay  gazing  till  you  died ;  you  com- 
manded such  variety  and  excitement  as  consist 
in  being  bounded  on  both  sides  by  another  bed, 
another  chair,  another  pair  of  folded  hands,  and 
another  set  of  gazing  eyes.  Old  Bijah's  bed  and 
chair  stood  the  last  in  the  line.  So  he  lay  and 
looked  at  the  wall,  when  he  said,  "  This  is  the 
end  on  't." 


A    Troublesome  Character.         171 

He  liked  to  talk,  they  said  ;  talked  a  great  deal ; 
talked  to  the  doctor,  the  paupers,  the  cat ;  talked 
to  the  chair  and  the  wall  ;  talked  to  Miss  Kelso 
now,  because  she  came  between  the  chair  and  the 
wall ;  had  talked  since  he  was  brought  struggling 
in  and  put  to  bed  with  nobody  knew  what 
exactly  the  matter  with  him.  He  was  dead  beat 
out,  he  said. 

He  must  have  talked  a  great  deal  upon  his 
journey ;  especially  in  its  later  days,  since 
the  earnings  of  the  last  "  Lord's  day "  were 
gone ;  since  he  had  travelled  afoot  and  gone 
without  his  dinner ;  since  he  had  taken  to 
sleeping  in  barns  and  under  fences,  and  in 
meadow-places  undisturbed  and  wet  with  ebbing 
floods  ;  since  he  had  traversed  the  State,  and 
ventured  into  New  Hampshire,  and  come  back 
into  the  State,  and  lost  heart  and  gained  it,  and 
lost  it  again  and  never  gained  it  again,  and  so 
begged  his  way  back  to  his  old  shanty  up  the 
river,  and  been  found  there  by  Stephen  Garrick, 
in  a  driving  storm,  dozing  on  the  floor  in  a  little 
pool  of  water,  and  with  the  door  blown  down 
upon  him  by  the  gale. 

He   had   talked  to  the    fences,   the   sky,  the 


172  The  Silent  Partner. 

Merrimack,  the  sea  when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
it,  the  dam  at  Lawrence,  and  the  Lowell  bells, 
and  the  wind  that  sprang  up  in  an  afternoon,  and 
gray  clouds,  and  red  sunsets,  and  the  cattle  on 
the  road,  especially,  he  said,  to  trees  ;  but  always 
rather  to  these  things  than  to  a  human  hearer. 

"  They  listened  to  me,"  he  said,  turning  shrewd 
eyes  and  a  foolish  smile  upon  his  visitor.  "  They 
always  listen  to  me.  It 's  a  free  country  and  I  'm 
a  troublesome  character,  but  they  listen  —  they 
listen.  It's  a  free  country  and  there's  room  for 
them  and  me.  I  'm  an  old  man  to  be  turned  out 
o'  work.  One  night  I  sat  down  on  Lawrence 
Bridge  and  said  so.  It  was  coming  dark,  and  all 
the  little  trees  were  green.  No,  marm,  I  'm  not 
out  o'  my  head.  I  'm  only  a  troublesome  char- 
acter out  of  work  in  a  free  country.  The  mill- 
gals  they  went  by,  but  I  'd  rather  tell  the  little 
trees.  I  had  n't  eat  no  dinner  nor  no  supper.  It 
was  dark  ag'in  the  water  and  ag'in  the  sky  ;  all 
the  lights  in  the  mills  was  blazin',  and  the  streets 
was  full  ;  if  I  'd  been  a  younger  man  I  'd  not  have 
took  it  quite  so  hard,  mebbe.  A  younger  man 
might  set  his  hand  to  this  and  that  ;  but  I  Ve 
worked  to  factories  fifty-six  years,  and  I  was  very 


A    Troublesome  Character.         173 

old  to  get  my  notice  unexpected.  I  'm  sixty-six 
years  old. 

" '  We  know  you,'  says  they  to  me,  '  we  don't 
want  you  ! '  says  they.  Here  and  there,  up  to 
New  Hampshyre  and  back  ag'in,  this  place  and 
that  and  t'other,  '  We  know  you,'  says  they. 

"  So  I  set  on  Lawrence  Bridge  ;  there  was  cars 
and  ingines  come  screechin'  by  ;  '  We  know  you,' 
says  they  ;  and  the  little  trees  held  up  like  as 
it  was  their  hands  to  listen.  '  They  know  me/ 
says  I,  '  I  'm  a  troublesome  character  out  o'  work  ! ' 
There  was  a  little  Irish  gal  come  by  that  night 
and  took  me  home  to  supper.  She  lived  in  one 
o'  them  new  little  houses  adown  the  road. 

"  There,  there,  there  !  Well,  well,  it 's  oncom- 
mon  strange  how  much  more  cheery-like  it  is  a 
talkin'  to  women-folks  than  it  is  to  trees.  And 
clearin'  to  the  head.  But  you  'd  never  guess, 
unless  you  was  a  troublesome  character  and  out 
o'  work,  how  them  trees  would  listen  — 

"  I  like  the  looks  of  you  setting  up  ag'in  the 
chair  ;  it  makes  a  variety  about  the  wall.  You  'd 
never  know,  onless  you  'd  come  to  the  end  on  't, 
how  little  of  what  you  may  call  variety  there  is 
about  that  wall. 


174  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Now  I  remember  what  I  had  to  say ;  I  remem- 
ber clear.  I  think  I  've  had  a  fever-turn  about 
me,  and  a  man  gets  muddled  now  and  then  from 
talking  to  so  many  trees  and  furrests.  There  's 
a  sameness  about  it.  They  're  good  listeners, 
but  there  's  a  sameness  about  'em  ;  and  a  lone- 
someness. 

"  Now  this  is  what  I  had  to  say  ;  in  the  name  of 

/  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  this  is  what  I  Ve  got 

to  say  :    I  've  worked  to  factories  fifty-six  years. 

I  have  n't  got  drunk  not  since  I  was  fifteen  year 

old.     I  've  been  about  as  healthy,  take  it  off  and 

/oici,  as  most  folks,  and  I  guess  about  as  smart. 

J'm  a  moral  man,  and  I  used  to  be  a  Methodist 

class-leader.      I  've  worked  to  factories  fifty-six 

years  steady,  and  I  'm  sixty-six  year  old,  and  in 

the  poor-us. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  boys  would  say  if  they 
see  me  in  the  poor-us. 

"  I  've  married  a  wife  and  buried  her.  I  Ve 
brought  up  six  children  and  buried  'em  all.  Me 
and  the  bed  and  the  chair  and  the  wall  are  the 
end  on  't. 

"  It  kind  o'  bothers  me,  off  and  on,  wonderin' 
what  the  boys  would  say. 


A   Troublesome  Character.         175 

"  There  was  three  as  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and 
two  as  I  lost  in  the  war  (three  and  two  is  five ; 
and  one  — )  there 's  one  other,  but  I  don't  rightly 
remember  what  she  died  on.  It  was  a  gal,  and 
kinder  dropped  away. 

"  I  Ve  worked  fifty-six  years,  and  I  've  earned 
my  bread  and  butter  and  my  shoes  and  hats,  and 
I  give  the  boys  a  trade,  and  I  give  'em  harnsome 
coffins  ;  and  now  I  'm  sixty-six  year  old  and  in 
the  poor-us. 

"  Once  when  I  broke  my  leg,  and  the  gal  was 
sick,  and  the  boys  was  in  the  tin-shop,  and  their 
mother  she  lay  abed  with  that  baby  that  kep' 
her  down  so  long,  I  struck  for  higher  wages,  and 
they  turned  me  off.  There  was  other  times  as  I 
struck  for  wages,  I  forget  what  for,  and  they 
turned  me  off.  But  I  was  a  young  man  then, 
and  so  I  sawed  wood  and  waited  my  chances,  and 
got  to  work  ag'in,  and  bided  my  time,  in  the 
name  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts. 

"  Now  I  Ve  testified  afore  the  Legislature,  and 
I  've  got  my  notice  ;  and  away  up  in  New  Hamp- 
shyre  they  knew  the  yellow  ochre  on  my  close, 
and  I  could  n't  get  the  toothache  out  o'  my  voice, 
and  I  would  n't  disown  my  honest  name,  —  in 


176  The  Silent  Partner. 

the  name  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  I  would 
n't  beg  for  honest  work,  unless  I  got  it  in  my 
honest  name,  —  and  so  I  am  sixty-six  year  old, 
and  in  the  poor-us. 

"  Tell  Hayle  and  Kelso,  —  will  you  ?  —  that 
I  'm  sixty-six  year  old,  and  an  honest  man,  and 
dead  beat  out  and  in  the  poor-us  !  Curse  'em  ! 

"  All  the  leaves  o'  the  trees  o'  the  State  of  Mas- 
sachusetts knows  it.  All  the  fields  and  the  rivers 
and  the  little  clouds  and  the  winds  o'  dark  nights 
and  the  grasses  knows  it.  I  told  'em,  I  told  'em  ! 
And  you'  d  rfever  know  how  they  listened  — 
See  here,  marm.  I  'm  no  fool,  except  for  the  fever 
on  me.  I  knew  when  I  set  out  what  I  'd  got 
to  say.  I  'm  no  fool,  and  I  never  asked  no 
favors  from  the  State  of  Massachusetts.  See 
here  !  A  workingman,  as  is  only  a  workingman, 
and  as  'lives  and  dies  a  workingman,  he  '11  earn 
enough  to  get  him  vittels,  and  to  get  him  close, 
and  to  get  him  a  roof  above  his  head,  and  he 
genrilly  won't  earn  much  more  ;  and  I  never 
asked  it  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts  as  he 
should.  But  now,  look  here  !  When  I  was  to 
Boston  on  my  journey,  I  picked  up  a  newspaper 
to  the  depot,  and  I  read  as  how  a  man  paid  forty 


A   Troublesome  Character.         177 

thousand  dollars  for  the  plate-glass  winders  in 
his  house.  Now,  look  here  !  I  say  there 's  some- 
thing out  o'  kilter  in  that  Commonwealth,  and  in 
that  country,  and  in  that  lot  of  human  creeturs, 
and  in  them  ways  of  rulin',  and  in  them  ways  of 
thinkin',  and  in  God's  world  itself,  when  a  man 
ken  spend  forty  thousand  dollars  on  the  plate- 
glass  winders  of  his  house,  and  I  ken  work 
industrious  and  honest  all  my  life  and  be  be- 
holden to  the  State  of  Massachusetts  for  my 
poor-us  vittels  when  I  'm  sixty-six  year  old  ! 

"  Not  but  what  I  've  had  money  in  the  bank  in 
my  day,  a  many  times.  I  had  forty-six  dollars 
laid  by  to  once.  I  went  into  the  dye-rooms  that 
year,  and  my  rubber  boots  was  wore  out.  We 
stand  about  in  dye,  and  it  's  very  sloppy  work, 
you  know.  I  'd  been  off  work  and  out  o'  cash, 
and  so  I  tried  to  get  along  without  ;  so  I  wet  my 
feet  and  wet  my  feet,  standing  round  in  the  stuff. 
So  there  was  lung  fever  and  doctors'  bills  enough 
to  eat  that  bank  account  out  as  close  as  famine. 

"  Why  was  n't  I  far-seein'  enough  to  get  my 
boots  to  the  first  place  and  save  my  fever  ?  Now 
that 's  jest  sech  a  question  as  I  'd  look  to  get 
from  them  as  is  them  of  property.  That 's  jest  a 


178  The  Silent  Partner. 

specimen  o'  the  kind  of  stoopidity  as  always 
seems  to  be  a  layin'  atween  property  and  poverty, 
atween  capital  and  labor,  atween  you  settin'  thar 
with  yer  soft  ways  and  yer  soft  dress  ag'in  you, 
and  me,  and  the  bed,  and  the  chair,  and  the  wall, 
and  the  end  on  't. 

"  How  was  I  a  goin'  to  get  into  that  thar  bank 
account  forty  mile  away  in  East  Boston  ?  Say  ! 
You  'd  never  thought  on  't,  would  you  ?  No, 
nor  none  the  rest  of  you  as  has  yer  thousands, 
and  the  trust  as  thousands  brings,  and  as  would 
make  no  more  of  buyin'  a  pair  o'  rubber  boots 
than  ye  would  o'  the  breath  ye  draws.  I  was  a 
stranger  to  town  then,  and  it's  not  for  the  likes 
of  me  to  get  a  pair  of  rubber  boots  on  trust.  So 
I  'd  had  my  lung  fever  and  lost  my  bank  account 
afore  I  could  lay  finger  on  it. 

"  So  with  this  and  that  and  t'other,  I  've  come 
into  my  old  age  without  a  dollar,  and  I'm  a 
troublesome  character,  and  my  boys  are  dead, 
and  I  'm  in  the  poor-us,  and  I  'm  sixty-six  years 
old. 

"  I  won't  say  but  there 's  those  of  us  that  lays  up 
more  than  I  did  ;  but  I  will  say  that  there  's  not 
a  man  of  us  that  ever  I  knew  to  spend  his  life  in 


A   Troublesome  Character          179 

the  mills,  and  lay  by  that  as  would  begin  to  keep 
him  in  his  old  age.  If  there  's  any  such  man,  I  'd 
like  to  see  him. 

"  I  tell  you,  marm,  there  's  a  many  men  and  wo- 
men in  Hayle  and  Kelso,  and  there  's  a  many  men 
and  women  in  a  many  factories  of  this  here  free 
country,  as  don't  dare  to  testify  afore  a  Legisla- 
ture. When  their  testimony  tells  ag'in  the  inter- 
est of  their  employers,  they  don't  dare.  There  's 
them  as  won't  do  it  not  for  nobody.  There's 
them  as  does  it  on  the  sly,  a  holdin'  back  their 
names  onto  the  confidence  o'  the  committee,  out 
o'  dread  and  fear.  We  're  poor  folks.  We  can't 
help  ourselves,  ye  see.  We  're  jest  clutched  up 
into  the  claws  o'  capital  tight,  and  capital  knows 
it,  jest  as  well  as  we  do.  Capital  says  to  us, 
'  Hold  your  tongue,  or  take  your  notice.'  It 
ain't  a  many  poor  men  as  can  afford  to  say,  '  I  '11 
take  my  notice,  thankee  ! '  /  done  it !  And 
I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  !  In  the  name  o' 
the  State  of  Massachusetts,  I  'd  do  it  ag'in  ! " 

Old  Bijah  lies  for  a  while,  with  this,  blankly 
gazing  at  the  wall  and  at  the  visitor  with  the 
"  soft  dress  ag'in  her,"  and  at  the  paupers,  and  at 
the  cat.  Now  and  then  he  shrewdly  nods,  and 


180  The  Silent  Partner. 

now  and  then  he  smiles  quite  foolishly,  and  no\v 
the  rows  of  beds  and  chairs  file  into  hickory-trees, 
he  says,  and  lift  up  their  leaves  in  the  name  of 
the  State  of  Massachusetts,  and  listen  —  And 
now  he  sees  the  visitor  again,  and  turns  sharply 
on  her,  and  the  hickory-trees  file  off  and  wring 
their  hands  in  going. 

"  I  heerd  the  t'other  day  of  a  man  as  give 
thirty  thousand  dollars  for  a  fancy  mare  ! " 

All  the  trees  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts  are 
filing  out  of  the  old  men's  ward  of  the  alms- 
house  at  Five  Falls  now,  and  all  in  going  wring 
their  hands  and  listen  — 

•"  Thirty  thousand  dollars  for  a  mare  !  Jest  fur 
the  fancy  of  the  fancy  creetur.  Thirty  thousand 
dollars  for  a  mare  !  " 

He  lies  quite  still  once  more,  till  the  last 
hickory  hands  have  passed,  wringing,  out  of  the 
almshouse,  and  some  one  has  shut  the  door  upon 
them,  and  the  visitor  softly  stirs  in  going  after 
them.  He  notices  that  the  visitor  does  not  wring 
her  hands,  but  holds  them  folded  closely  down 
before  her  as  she  stirs. 

He  cries  out  that  he  wonders  what  the  boys 
would  say,  and  that  he  give  'em  harnsome  coffins, 


A    Troublesome  Character.         181 

and  that  she  is  to  tell  Hayle  and  Kelso,  curse  'em, 
as  he  's  sixty-six  year  old,  and  out  o'  work,  and  in 
the  poor-us  ;  and  when  she  opens  the  door  in 
passing  out,  half  the  forests  of  N.ew  England  jostle 
over  her  and  jostle  in,  and  fill  the  room,  and  stand 
and  listen  — 

The  visitor  unclasps  her  hands  on  stepping 
into  the  heart  of  the  southern  storm  ;  it  may  be 
fancy,  or  it  may  be  that  she  slightly,  wrings  them, 
as  if  she  had  mistaken  herself  for  a  hickory-tree. 

"  They  are  cold ! "  exclaims  Stephen  Garrick, 
who  waits  for  her  with  an  umbrella  and  an  enig- 
matical face.  He  takes  one  of  the  hands  upon 
his  arm,  and  folds  the  other  for  her  in  her  cloak. 
Apparently,  neither  the  man  nor  the  umbrella 
nor  the  action  attracts  her  attention  pointedly,  till 
the  man  says :  "  It  is  a  furious  storm,  and  you 
will  get  very  wet.  What  have  you  been  about  ?  " 

"  Feeling  my  way." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  all  you  will  ever  do." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  all  I  can  ever  do." 

"  But  that  is  something." 

"  Something." 

"  You  are  not  expected  to  cut   and   carve   a 


182  The  Silent  Partner. 

quarry  with  tied  hands.  You  have  at  least  the 
advantage  of  not  being  responsible  for  the 
quarry." 

"  Who  can  hold  you  responsible  for  a  case  like 
this  ?  You  are  one  of  three,  and,  as  you  say, 
tied  by  the  hands." 

"  That  old  man  will  hold  me  responsible  to  his 
dying  day.  Half  our  operatives  will  hold  me 
responsible.  Miss  Kelso,  I  am  one  of  those 
people  of  whom  you  will  always  find  a  few  in 
the  world,  adjusted  by  fate  or  nature  to  a  posi- 
tion of  unavoidable  and  intolerable  mistake  and 
pain." 

His  face,  through  the  gray  of  the  growing 
storm,  wears  a  peculiar  and  a  patient  smile  which 
Perley  notes  ;  there  being  always  something  note- 
worthy about  Stephen  Garrick's  smile. 

"  A  position,"  he  repeats  slowly,  "  in  which  a 
man  must  appear,  from  force  of  circumstances,  to 
pass  the  —  the  wounded  part  of  the  world  by 
upon  the  other  side.  And  I  believe,  before  God, 
that  I  would  begin  over  again  in  East  Street  to- 
morrow, if  I  could  help  to  bind  it  up,  and  set  it 
healthily  upon  its  way  !  " 

Perley  believes  he  would,  and  says  so,  solemnly. 


A    Troublesome  Character.         183 

She  says  too,  very  earnestly,  that  she  cannot 
think  it  to  be  true  that  a  man  who  holds  to  such 
a  purpose,  and  who  holds  it  with — she  falters  — 
with  such  a  smile,  can  permanently  and  inevita- 
bly be  misunderstood  and  pained.  She  cannot 
think  it. 

Stephen  Garrick  shakes  his  head. 

"  I  suspect  there  always  are  and  always  will 
be  a  few  rich  men,  Miss  Kelso,  who  just  because 
they  are  rich  men  will  be  forever  mistranslated 
by  the  suffering  poor,  and  I  suspect  that  I  am 
one  of  them.  I  do  not  know  that  it  matters. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  Of  something  else  than  suffering  and  poverty  ? 
Mr.  Garrick,"  —  Perley  turns  her  young  face 
against  the  west,  where  the  sultry  storm  is 
crouching  and  springing,  —  "why,  Mr.  Garrick  ! 
sometimes  I  do  not  see  —  in  God's  name  I  do  not 
see  —  what  else  there  can  be  to  talk  about  in 
such  a  world  as  this  !  I  Ve  stepped  into  it,  as  we 
have  stepped  out  into  this  storm.  It  has  wrapped 
me  in,  —  it  has  wrapped  me  in  !  " 

The  sultry  rain  wraps  them  in,  as  they  beat 
against  it,  heavily.  It  is  not  until  a  little  lurid 
tongue  of  light  eats  its  way  through  and  over  the 


184  The  Silent  Partner. 

hill,  and  strikes  low  and  sidewise  against  the  wet 
clovers  that  brush  against  their  feet,  that  Perley 
breaks  a  silence  into  which  they  fall,  to  say,  in  a 
changed  tone,  "  It  is  not  an  uncommon  case,  this 
old  man's?"  and  that  Mr.  Garrick  tells  her,  "Not 
an  uncommon  case  " ;  and  that  she  leaves  him, 
nodding,  at  the  corner  of  the  road,  and  climbs  the 
hill  alone ;  and  that  he  stands  in  the  breaking 
storm  for  a  moment  there  to  watch  her,  brushing 
gilded  wet  clovers  down  about  her  as  she  climbs. 


A  Fancy  Case.  185 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A   FANCY   CASE. 

E  oculist  shut  the  door.  For  a  popular 
oculist,  with  a  specialty  for  fancy  cases, 
he  looked  disturbed. 

A  patient  in  waiting  —  a  mild,  near-sighted 
case  —  asked  what  was  the  matter  with  the 
girl. 

"  Why,  the  creature  's  deaf  and  dumb  !  " 

"  Not  growing  blind,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Incurably  blind.  A  factory-girl,  a  charity 
case  of  Miss  Kelso's.  You  know  of  Miss  Kel- 
so,  Mr.  Blodgett  ?  " 

Mr.  Blodgett  knew,  he  thought.  The  young 
lady  from  whom  Wiggins  bought  that  new  house 
on  the  Mill-Dam.  An  eccentric  young  lady, 
buried  herself  in  Five  Falls  ever  since  the  old 
gentleman's  death,  broke  an  engagement,  and 
was  interested  in  labor  reform,  or  something 
of  that  description. 


1 86  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  The  same.  Enthusiastic,  very  ;  and  odd. 
Would  send  the  girl  to  me,  for  instance;  natu- 
rally it  would  have  been  a  hospital  case,  you  see. 
I  have  to  thank  her  for  a  hard  morning's  work. 
There  was  a  sister  in  the  matter.  She  would  be 
told  then  and  there  ;  a  sharp  girl,  and  I  could 
n't  put  her  off." 

Ah  !  Mr.  Blodgett  weakly  sighs.  Very  sad  ! 
Worn  out  at  the  looms  perhaps  ?  He  seemed  to 
have  heard  that  the  gaslight  is  trying  in  factories. 

"  This  is  wool-picking,  sir  ;  a  clear  case,  ^but 
a  little  extraordinary.  There  's  a  disease  of  the 
hands  those  people  acquire  from  wool-picking 
sometimes  ;  an  ugly  thing.  The  girl  rubbed  her 
eyes,  I  suppose.  The  mischief  has  been  a  long 
time  in  progress,  or  she  might  have  stood  a  chance, 
which  gaslight-work  has  killed,  to  be  sure  ;  but 
there  's  none  for  her  here,  none  ! " 

Sip  and  Catty,  in  the  entry,  sat  down  upon  the 
office  stairs.  Sip  was  dizzy,  she  said.  She  drew 
up  her  knees  and  put  her  face  into  her  hands. 
She  could  hear  the  doctor  through  the  door 
saying,  "  None  for  her !  "  and  the  near-sighted 
patient  babbling  pity,  and  the  rumble  of  the 


A  Fancy  Case.  187 

street,  as  if  it  had  been  miles  away,  and  a  news- 
boy shrieking  a  New  York  wedding  through  it.  A 
singular,  painful,  intense  interest  in  that  wedding 
took  hold  of  her.  She  wondered  what  the  bride 
wore,  and  how  much  her  veil  cost.  Long  bridal 
parties  filed  before  her  eyes,  and  flowers  fell,  and 
sweet  scents  were  in  the  air.  It  seemed  impera- 
tive to  think  about  the  wedding.  The  solid  earth 
would  reel  if  she  did  not  think  about  the  wedding. 
She  clung  to  the  banisters  with  both  hands,  lest 
she  should  not  think  about  the  wedding. 

The  newsboy  shrieked  the  wedding  out  of 
hearing,  and  Catty  touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Sip.  A  whirl  of  flowers 
and  favors  shot  like  a  rocket  by  and  beyond  her, 
and  a  ragged  newsboy  chased  them,  and  all  the 
brides  were  blind,  and  she  thrust  out  her  hands ; 
and  she  was  sitting  in  the  entry  on  the  stairs,  and 
the  wind  blew  up,  and  she  had  frightened  Catty. 

So  she  said,  "  There,  there  !  "  as  if  Catty  could 
hear  her,  and  held  by  the  banisters  and  stood  up. 

Catty  wanted  to  know  what  had  happened, 
very  petulantly  ;  the  more  so  because  she  could 
not  see  Sip's  face.  She  had  been  very  cross 
since  the  blur  came  over  Sip's  face. 


1 88  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Nothing  has  happened,"  said  Sip,  —  "  nothing 
but  a —  pain  I  had." 

"  /  Ve  got  the  pain,"  scowled  Catty.  She  put 
her  hand  to  her  shrunken  eyes  and  cowered  on 
the  stairs,  whining  a  little,  like  a  hurt  brute. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Sip,  on  her  fingers,  stiffly, 
"very  well.  Stop  that  noise  and  come  away, 
Catty  !  I  cannot  bear  that  noise,  not  for  love's 
sake,  I  can't  bear  it.  Come  ! " 

They  crept  slowly  down  the  stairs  and  out  into 
the  street.  It  was  a  bright  day,  and  everybody 
laughed.  This  seemed  to  Sip  very  strange. 

She  tried  to  tie  Catty's  face  up  in  a  thick  veil 
she  had ;  but  Catty  pulled  it  off ;  and  she  took 
her  hand  upon  her  arm,  but  did  it  weakly,  and 
Catty  jerked  away.  She  was  quite  worn  out 
when  they  got  to  the  depot  and  the  cars,  and  sat 
with  her  head  back  and  shut  her  eyes. 

"  What  V  the  matter  with  the  girl  ?  -Blind, 
ain't  she?" 

A  curious  passenger  somewhere  behind  her 
said  this  loudly,  as  the  train  swept  out  of 
the  station  dusk.  Sip  turned  upon  him  like  a 
tiger.  She  could  not  remember  that  Catty  could 
not  hear.  The  word  was  so  horrible  to  her  ;  she 


A  Fancy  Case.  189 

had  not  said  it  herself  yet.  She  put  her  arm 
about  Catty,  and  said,  "  Don't  you  talk ! " 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  said  the  curious  passenger, 
blandly,  "  I  would  n't  harm  ye." 

"  I  had  n't  told  her,"  said  Sip,  catching  her 
breath ;  "  I  had  n't  gone  away  —  by  ourselves  with 
the  doors  locked  — to  tell  her.  Do  you  think  I  'd 
have  it  said  out  loud  before  a  earful  of  folks  ? " 

Miss  Kelso  met  her  when  she  got  home ; 
looked  at  her  once ;  put  a  quick,  strong  arm 
about  her,  and  got  the  .two  girls  into  the  carriage 
with  the  scented  cushions  immediately.  Catty 
was  delighted  with  this,  and  talked  rapidly  about 
it  on  her  fingers  all  the  way  to  the  stone  house. 
Sip  pulled  her  hat  over  her  eyes  like  a  man,  and 
sat  up  straight. 

The  little  stone  house  was  lighted,  and  supper 
was  ready.  The  windows  were  open,  and  the 
sweet  spring  night  airs  wandered  in  and  out. 
The  children  in  the  streets  were  shouting.  Sip 
shut  the  window  hard.  She  stood  uncertainly  by 
the  door,  while  Catty  went  to  take  off  her  things. 

"If  I  can  do  anything  for  you  —  "  said  Perley, 
gently. 

Sip  held  up  her  hands  and  her  brown  face. 


igo  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  you  could 
—  kiss  me?" 

Perley  sat  down  in  the  wooden  rocking-chair 
and  held  out  her  beautiful  arms. 

Sip  crept  in  like  a  baby,  and  there  she  began  to 
cry.  She  cried  and  cried.  Catty  ate  her  supper, 
and  nobody  said  anything,  and  she  cried  and 
,  cried. 

"  My  dear !  "  said  Perley,  crying  too. 

"  Let  me  be,"  sobbed  Sip,  — "  let  me  be  for  a 
minute.  I  '11  bear  it  in  a  minute.  I  only  wanted 
some  women-folks  to  cry  to !  I  had  n't  any- 
body." 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with 
Catty  as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  She  had 
dried  her  eyes  to  bear  it  now.  Catty  must 
understand.  She  was  quite  determined  to  have 
it  over.  She  set  her  lips  together,  and  knotted 
her  knuckles  tightly. 

The  light  was  out,  but  a  shaft  of  wan  moon- 
light from  the  kitchen  windows  struck  into  the 
closet  bedroom,  and  lay  across  the  floor  and 
across  the  patch  counterpane.  Catty  sat  in  it 
She  was  unusually  quiet,  and  her  face  indicated 


A  Fancy  Case.  191 

some  alarm  or  uneasiness,  when  Sip  held  up  her 
trembling  hand  in  the  strip  of  light  to  command 
her  close  attention,  and  touched  her  eyes.  Catty 
put  out  her  supple  fingers  and  groped,  poor 
thing,  after  Sip's  silent  words.  Walled  up  and 
walled  in  now  from  that  long  mystery  which 
we  call  life,  except  at  the  groping,  lithe,  magne- 
tic fingers,  she  was  an  ugly  girl. 

Sip  looked  at  her  for  a  minute  fiercely. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  God  means  ! "  she 
said.  But  she  did  not  say  it  to  Catty.  She 
would  not  speak  to  Catty  till  she  had  wiped  her 
dry  lips  to  wipe  the  words  off.  Whatever  He 
meant,  Catty  should  not  hear  the  words. 

She  tried,  instead,  to  tell  her  very  gently, 
and  quite  as  if  He  meant  a  gentle  thing  by  Catty, 
how  it  was. 

In  the  strip  of  unreal  light,  the  two  hands,  the 
groping  hand  and  the  trembling  hand,  inter- 
changing unreal,  soundless  words,  seemed  to 
hang  with  a  pitiful  significance.  One  might 
have  thought,  to  see  them,  how  the  mystery  of 
suffering  and  the  mystery  of  love  grope  and 
tremble  forever  after  one  another,  with  no  speech 
nor  language  but  a  sign. 


192  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  There 's  something  I  've  got  to  tell  you, 
dear,"  said  the  trembling  hand. 

"  For  love's  sake  ? "  asked  the  hand  that 
groped. 

"  For  love's  sake,"  said  the  trembling  hand. 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Catty,  with  content. 

"  A  long  time  ago,"  said  Sip  ;  "  before  we  went 
to  Waltham,  Catty,  when  you  picked  the  wool  —  " 

"  And  hurt  my  hands,"  said  Catty,  scowling. 

"  Something  went  wrong,"  said  the  trembling 
hand,  "  with  your  poor  eyes,  Catty.  O  your  poor, 
poor  eyes,  my  dear !  All  that  you  had  left,  — 
the  dear  eyes  that  saw  me  and  loved  me,  and 
that  I  taught  to  understand  so  much,  and  to  be 
so  happy  for  love's  sake  !  The  poor  eyes  that  I 
tried  to  keep  at  home,  and  safe,  and  would  have 
died  for,  if  they  need  never,  never  have  looked 
upon  an  evil  thing  !  The  dear  eyes,  Catty,  that 
I  would  have  hunted  the  world  over,  if  I  could,  to 
find  pretty  things  for,  and  pleasant  things  and 
good  things,  and  that  I  never  had  anything  for 
but  such  a  miserable  little  room  that  they  got  so 
tired  of !  The  poor  dear  eyes  ! " 

The  shrunken  and  disfigured  eyes,  that  had 
been  such  wandering,  wicked  eyes,  turned  and 


A  Fancy  Case.  193 

strained  painfully  in  the  half-light.  Sip  had  said 
some  of  this  with  her  stiff  lips,  but  the  trembling 
hand  had  made  it  for  the  most  part  plain  to  the 
groping  hand.  Catty  herself  sat  and  trembled 
suddenly. 

When  should  she  see  the  supper-table  plain 
again  ?  the  groping  hand  made  out  to  ask.  And 
the  picture  by  the  china-closet  ?  And  the  flies 
upon  the  window-pane  ? 

"  Never  !  "  said  the  trembling  hand. 

But  when  should  she  see  Sip's  face  again  with- 
out the  blur? 

"  Never  !     O  Catty,  never  again  !  " 

The  trembling  hand  caught  the  groping  hand 
to  sting  it  with  quick  kisses.  Sip  could  not, 
would  not,  see  what  the  poor  hand  might  say. 
She  held  it  up  in  the  streak  of  light.  God  might 
see.  She  held  it  up,  and  pulled  Cafty  down  upon 
her  knees,  with  her  face  in  the  patch  counter- 
pane. 

When  Catty  was  asleep  that  night,  Sip  went 
out  and  got  down  upon  the  floor  in  the  kitchen. 

She  got  down,  with  her  hands  around  her 
knees,  in  the  wan  lightness  that  fell  about  the 
picture  behind  the  china-closet  door.  The  driv- 
9  M 


194  TJie  Silent  Partner. 

ing  dream  seemed  to  fill  the  room.  The  factory- 
girl  on  the  kitchen  floor  felt  herself  swept  into  it. 
Her  lips  worked  and  she  talked  to  it. 

"  I  could  ha'  borne  it  if  it  had  been  me," 
she  said.  Did  the  pictured  women,  with  their 
arms  up,  nod  as  they  drove  wailing  by  ?  Sip 
could  have  sworn  to  it. 

"  We  could  have  borne,  if  it  had  been  we,"  they 
said. 

"  What 's  the  sense  of  it  ? "  asked  Sip,  in  her 
rough  way,  half  aloud.  She  had  such  a  foolish 
way  about  that  picture,  often  talking  to  it  by  the 
hour,  upon  the  kitchen  floor. 

But  the  women  only  waved  their  arms  and 
nodded  solemnly.  That  which  they  could  not 
know  nor  consider  nor  understand  was  in  the 
question.  They  drifted  over  it  with  the  help- 
lessness of  hopeless  human  pain. 

"You  're  good  for  nothing,"  said  Sip,  and 
turned  the  picture  to  the  wall. 

She  stumbled  over  something  in  doing  this, 
and  stooped  to  see  what  it  was.  It  was  an 
abused  old  book  that  Catty  had  taken  once 
from  the  Mission  Sunday  School,  and  had  never 
returned,  —  a  foolish  thing,  with  rough  prints. 


A  Fancy  Case.  195 

Catty  had  thrown  it  under  the  table  in  ten  min- 
utes. It  opened  in  Sip's  hands  now,  by  chance, 
at  a  coarse  plate  of  the  Crucifixion. 

Sip  threw  it  down,  but  picked  it  up  again,  lost 
the  place,  and  hunted  for  it ;  bent  over  it  for  a 
few  minutes  with  a  puzzled  face. 

Somehow  the  driving  dream  and  the  restless 
dreamer  hushed  away  before  the  little  woodcut. 
In  some  way  the  girl  herself  felt  quieted  by  the 
common  thing.  For  some  reason  —  the  old,  the 
unexplained,  the  inexplicable  reason  —  the  Cross 
with  the  Man  upon  it  put  finger  on  the  bitter  lips 
of  Sip's  trouble.  She  could  not  ask  a  Man  upon 
a  Cross,  "  What  was  the  sense  of  it  ? "  So  she 
only  said,  "  O  my  poor  Catty  !  my  poor,  poor 
Catty!"  and  softly  shut  the  foolish  little  book 
and  went  to  bed. 

Beethoven  did  not  stay  with  his  face  to  the 
wall,  however.  Sip  took  a  world  of  curious  com- 
fort out  of  that  picture ;  quite  perplexed  Perley 
who  had  only  thought  in  sending  it  to  do  a 
pleasant  thing,  who  had  at  that  time  never 
guessed  —  how  should  she  ?  —  that  a  line  en- 
graving after  De  Lemude  could  make  a  "  forget- 
ting "  in  the  life  of  a  factory-girl. 


196  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Sometimes  now,  when  Catty  is  so  bad,"  said 
Sip  one  day,  "  there 's  music  comes  out  of  that 
picture  all  about  the  room.  Sometimes  in  the 
night  I  hear  'em  play.  Sometimes  when  I  sit 
and  wait  for  her,  they  sit  and  play.  Sometimes 
when  the  floor 's  all  sloppy  and  I  have  to  wash  up 
after  work,  I  hear  'em  playing  over  all  the  dirt. 
It  sounds  so  clean  !  "  said  Sip. 

"  Is  Catty  still  so  troublesome  ?  "  asked  Perley. 

Sip's  face  dropped. 

"  Off  and  on  a  little  worse,  I  think.  The 
blinder  she  grows  the  harder  it  is  to  please 
her  and  to  keep  her  still.  I  come  home  all  beat 
out ;  and  she  's  gone.  Or,  I  try  so  hard  to  make 
her  happy  after  supper,  and  along  by  nine  o'clock 
she 's  off.  She 's  dreadful  restless  since  she  left 
off  workin',  and  gets  about  the  street  a'most  as 
easy,  for  aught  I  see,  as  ever.  She  's  so  used  to 
the  turns  and  all  ;  and  everybody  knows  her,  and 
turns  out  for  her.  I  've  heard  of  blind  folks  that 
was  like  her ;  she  was  n't  stupid,  Catty  was  n't, 
if  she  'd  been  like  other  folks.  There  's  nights  I 
sit  and  look  for  her  to  be  run  over  and  brought 
in.  There  's  nights  she  gets  at  liquor.  There  's 
nights  I  follow  her  round  and  round,  and  follow 


A  Fancy  Case.  197 

her  home,  and  make  as  if  I  sat  there  and  she  'd 
just  come  in.  That 's  the  worst,  you  see. 
What  was  that  you  said  ?  No  ;  I  '11  not  have 
Catty  sent  anywhere  away  from  me.  There  's  no 
kind  folks  in  any  good  asylum  that  would  make  it 
comfortable  for  Catty  away  from  me.  You  need 
n't  think,"  —  Sip  set  her  tough  little  lips  together 
— "  you  need  n't  think  that  you  nor  anybody 
could  separate  me  and  Catty.  She 's  never  to 
blame,  Catty  is  n't.  /  know  that.  /  can  work. 
/  '11  make  her  comfortable.  It 's  only  God  in 
heaven  that  will  separate  me  and  Catty." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Kelso  at- 
tempted, in  view  of  Sip's  increasing  care,  a  long- 
cherished  plan  of  experiment  in  taking  the  girl 
out  of  the  mills. 

"It  is  not  a  girl  to  spend  life  in  weaving 
cotton,"  said  the  young  lady  to  Stephen  Garrick. 
"  That  would  be  such  exorbitant  waste." 

"  There 's  waste  enough  at  those  looms,"  said 
Mr.  Garrick,  pointing  to  his  mills,  "  to  enrich  a 
Commonwealth  perceptibly.  We  live  fast  down 
there  among  the  engines.  It  is  hot-house 
growth.  There's  the  difference  between  a  man 
brought  up  at  machinery  and  a  man  brought 


198  The  Silent  Partner. 

up  at  a  hoe,  for  instance,  that  there  is  between 
forced  fruit  and  frozen  fruit.  Few  countries 
understand  what  possibilities  they  possess  in 
their  factory  population.  We  are  a  fever  in  the 
national  blood  that  it  will  not  pay  to  neglect  ; 
there  's  kill  or  cure  in  us." 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  "  said  Sip,  with  sullen,  un- 
responsive eyes.  "  You  '11  have  all  your  bother 
for  nothing,  Miss  Kelso.  If  I  get  away  from  my 
loom,  I  shall  come  back  to  my  loom.  Look  at 
the  factory-folks  in  England  !  From  father  to 
child,  from  children  to  children's  children,  —  a 
whole  race  of  'em  at  their  looms.  It 's  in  the 
blood." 

"Try  it,"  urged  Perley.  "Try  it  for  Catty's 
sake,  at  least.  There  are  so  many  ways  in  which 
it  would  be  better  for  Catty." 

"I  should  like  it,"  said  Sip,  slowly,  "to  get 
Catty  among  some  other  folks  than  mill-folks. 
It  seems  as  if  I  could  have  done  it  once  ;  but 
it 's  too  late  now." 

Now  Sip  was  barely  twenty-one.  She  said 
this  with  the  unconscious  assurance  of  fifty. 

"  I  'd  try  anything  for  Catty  ;  and  almost 
anything  for  you  ;  and  almost  anything  to  get 
out  of  the  mills  ;  but  I  'm  afraid  it 's  too  late." 


A  Fancy  Case.  199 

But  Parley  was  persistent  in  her  fancy,  and 
between  them  they  managed  to  "try  it"  faith- 
fully. 

Sip  went  out  as  somebody's  cook,  and  burned 
all  the  soup  and  made  sour  bread.  She  drew 
about  a  baby's  carriage  for  a  day  and  a  half,  and 
left  because  the  baby  cried  and  she  was  afraid 
that  she  should  shake  it.  She  undertook  to  be  a 
hotel  table-girl,  and  was  saucy  to  the  house- 
keeper before  night.  She  took  a  specimen  of 
her  sewing  to  a  dressmaker,  and  was  told  that 
the  establishment  did  not  find  itself  in  need  of 
another  seamstress.  She  stood  behind  a  dry- 
goods  counter,  but  it  worried  her  to  measure  off 
calico  for  the  old  ladies.  Finally,  Perley  put  her 
at  the  printer's  trade,  and  Sip  had  a  headache 
and  got  inky  for  a  fortnight. 

Then  she  walked  back  to  her  overseer,  and 
"  asked  in  "  for  the  next  morning. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  no  use,"  she  said,  shaking 
her  head  at  Miss  Kelso,  half  whimsically,  half 
sadly  too.  "  It 's  too  late.  What  am  I  fit  for  ? 
Nothing.  What  do  I  know  ?  Nothing.  I  can 
weave  ;  that's  all.  I  'm  used  to  that.  I  'm  used 
to  the  noise  and  the  running  about.  I  'm  used  to 


200  The  Silent  Partner. 

the  dirt  and  the  roughness.  I  can't  sit  still  on 
a  high  stool  all  day.  I  don't  know  how  to  spell, 
if  I  do.  They  're  too  fussy  for  me  in  the  shops. 
I  hate  babies.  It  's  too  late.  I  'm  spoiled.  I 
knew  I  should  come  back.  My  father  and  mother 
came  back  before  me.  It 's  in  the  blood." 

Perley  would  have  liked  even  then,  had  it 
seemed  practicable,  to  educate  the  girl  ;  but  Sip 
shook  her  dogged  head. 

"  It 's  too  late  for  that,  too.  Once  I  would 
have  liked  that.  There  's  things  I  think  I  could 
ha'  done."  Sip's  sullen  eyes  wandered  slowly 
to  the  plunging  dream  and  the  solitary  dreamer 
behind  the  china-closet  door,  and,  resting  there, 
flashed  suddenly.  "  There  's  things  I  seem  to 
think  I  might  ha'  done  with  that ;  but  I  've  lost 
'em  now.  Nor  that  ain't  the  worst.  I  've  lost  the 
caring  for  'em,  —  that 's  the  thing  I  've  lost.  If  I 
was  to  sit  still  and  study  at  a  grammar,  I  should 
scream.  I  must  go  back  to  the  noise  and  the 
dirt.  Catty  and  me  must  stay  there.  Some- 
times I  seem  to  think  that  I  might  have  been  a 
little  different  someways ;  if  maybe  I  'd  been 
helped  or  shown.  There  was  an  evening  school 
to  one  place  where  I  worked.  I  was  running  four 


A  Fancy  Case.  201 

looms  twelve  hours  and  a  half  a  day.  You  're  so 
dull  about  the  head,  you  see,  when  you  get  Ijome 
from  work ;  and  you  ache  so  ;  and  you  don't  feel 
that  interest  in  an  education  that  you  might." 

"  Sometimes,"  added  Sip,  with  a  working  of 
the  face,  "  it  comes,  over  me  as  if  I  was  like  a  — 
a  patchwork  bed-quilt.  I  'd  like  to  have  been 
made  out  of  one  piece  of  cloth.  It  seems  as  if 
your  kind  of  folks  got  made  first,  and  we  down 
here  was  put  together  out  of  what  was  left. 

"  Sometimes,  though,"  continued  the  girl,  "  I 
wonder  how  there  came  to  be  so  much  of  me  as 
there  is.  I  don't  set  up  for  much,  but  I  wonder 
why  I  was  n't  worse.  I  believe  you  would  your- 
self, if  you  knew." 

"  Knew  what  ?  " 

"  Knew  what !  "  echoed  the  factory-girl.  "  Knew 
that  as  you  know  no  more  of  than  you  know  of 
hell !  Have  n't  I  told  you  that  you  cant  know  ? 
You  can't  understand.  If  I  was  to  tell  you,  you 
could  n't  understand.  It  ain't  so  much  the 
bringing  up  I  got,  as  the  smooch  of  it.  That 's 
the  wonder  of  it.  You  may  be  ever  so  clean, 
but  you  don't  feel  clean  if  you  're  born  in  the 
black.  Why,  look  here  ;  there  was  my  mother,  . 
9* 


2O2  The  Silent  Partner. 

into  the  mills  off  and  on  between  her  babies. 
There  's  me,  from  the  time  I  run  alone,  run- 
ning alone.  She  comes  home  at  night.  I  'm 
off  about  the  street  all  day.  I  learned  to  swear 
when  I  learned  to  talk.  Before  I  'd  learned  to 
talk  I  'd  seen  sights  that  you  'ye  never  seen  yet  in 
all  your  fine  life  long.  That  's  the  crock  of  it. 
And  the  wonder.  And  the  talk  in  the  mills  — 
for  a  little  girl  to  hear  !  Only  eight  years  old 
—  such  a  little  girl  —  and  all  sorts  of  women 
working  round  beside  you.  If  ever  I  'd  like  to 
call  curses  down  on  anybody,  it 's  on  a  woman 
that  I  used  to  know  for  the  way  she  talked  to 
little  girls  !  Why  did  nobody  stop  it  ?  Why,  the 
boss  was  as  bad  himself,  every  whit  and  grain. 
The  gentlemen  who  employed  that  boss  were 
professors  of  religion,  all  of  them. 

"  But  I  've  tried  to  be  good  !  "  broke  off  Sip, 
with  a  little  sudden  tremor  of  her  bitter  lip.  "  I 
know  I  'm  rough,  but  I  Ve  tried  to  be  a  good 
girl!" 


Economical.  203 


CHAPTER    X. 

ECONOMICAL. 

'THHERE  is  something  very  pleasant  about 
•*•  the  town  of  Five  Falls  early  on  a  summer 
morning. 

There  was  something  very  pleasant  about  the 
town  of  Five  Falls  on  one  summer  morning  when 
Bub  Mell  got  up  at  five  o'clock  to  catch  a  rat. 

To  pluck  a  Five  Falls  morning  in  the  bud,  one 
should  be  up  and  in  it  before  the  bells,  —  like 
Bub.  Until  the  bells  are  awake,  there  is  a  still- 
ness and  a  cleanliness  about  the  place  that  are 
noticeable  ;  about  the  dew-laid  dusty  streets 
and  damp  sidewalks  bare  of  busy  feet ;  about 
the  massive  muteness  of  the  mills  ;  about  the 
very  tenements  on  East  Street,  washed  and  made 
shining  by  the  quiet  little  summer  shower  that 
fell  perhaps  last  night,  like  old  sins  washed  out 
by  tears  ;  about  the  smooth,  round  cheek  of  the 
sky  before  the  chimneys  begin  to  breathe  upon  it ; 


204  The  Silent  Partner. 

about  the  little  cascades  at  play  like  babies  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  upper  stream  ;  about  the  arches 
of  the  stone  bridge,  great  veins,  one  thinjcs,  for  the 
pulsing  dam  ;  about  the  slopes  of  buttercups  and 
clover  which  kneel  to  the  water's  edge  with  a 
reverent  look,  as  if  they  knelt  for  baptism  ;  about 
some  groups  of  pines  that  stretch  their  arms  out 
like  people  gone  wearily  to  sleep.  The  pines,  the 
clover  slopes,  the  dam,  the  streets  and  houses,  the 
very  sky,  everything,  in  fact,  in  Five  Falls,  except 
those  babies  of  cascades,  wears,  upon  a  summer 
morning,  that  air  of  having  gone  or  of  having 
been  wearily  to  sleep,  —  an  air  of  having  been 
upon  its  feet  eleven  hours  and  a  half  yesterday, 
and  of  expecting  to  be  upon  its  feet  eleven  hours 
and  a  half  to-day. 

Bub  has  been  awake  for  some  fifteen  minutes  — 
he  sleeps  upon  a  mat,  like  a  puppy,  behind  the 
door,  —  before  he  shakes  himself  a  little  in  his 
rags  (the  ceremony  of  a  toilet  is  one  of  Bub's  lost 
arts  ;  he  can,  indeed,  remember  faintly  having  been 
forcibly  induced  to  take  certain  jerks  at  the  street 
pump  on  mild  mornings,  at  some  indefinite  past 
period  of  juvenile  slavery,  till  his  mother  was 
nicely  laid  up  out  of  the  way  in  the  bedroom,  and 


Economical  205 

he  "  got  so  old  he  give  it  up  "),  and  trots  down  the 
wretched  stairs,  and  out  with  the  other  puppies 
into  the  clean  stillness  of  the  early  time. 

The  sick  woman  is  troublesome  this  morning  ; 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  coughing  and  confusion 
going  on  ;  and  the  husband  up  since  midnight. 
Bub  finds  it  annoying  to  be  broken  of  his  sleep  ; 
suffers  from  some  chronic  sensitiveness  on  the 
dangers  of  being  at  hand  to  be  despatched  for  the 
doctor  ;  and  finds  in  the  rat  at  once  an  inspira- 
tion and  a  relief. 

There  is  indeed  peculiar  inspiration  in  the  case 
of  that  rat.  Bub  chuckles  over  his  shoulder  at 
himself  as  he  trots  out  into  the  peaceful  time  ; 
there  is  a  large  three-cornered  jagged  rag  among 
Bub's  rags  ;  the  rat  bit  it  yesterday  ;  it  hangs  down 
from  his  little  trousers  behind  and  wags  as  he 
trots.  He  put  the  rat  into  a  hogshead  to  pay  for- 
it ;  and  shut  it  down  with  that  piece  of  board 
fence  with  which  he  provided  himself  last  week 
(from  Mr.  Hayle's  garden)  for  such  emergencies. 
There  is  a  richness  about  going  to  sleep  over- 
night with  the  game  for  your  morning's  hunt  in 
a  hogshead,  which  is  not  generally  appreciated 
by  gentlemen  of  the  chase.  There  is  a  kind  of 


206  The  Silent  Partner. 

security  of  happiness,  a  lingering  on  the  lips  of 
a  sure  delight,  a  consciousness  of  duty  done  and 
pleasure  in  waiting,  which  have  quite  an  indi- 
vidual flavor. 

None  the  other  coves  know  about  that  rat. 
You  bet.  Not  much.  Hi-igh. 

Bub's  right  shoulder  chuckles  at  his  left  shoul- 
der, and  his  left  shoulder  chuckles  at  his  right 
shoulder,  and  the  jagged  rag  behind  wags  with 
delight.  Won't  he  jab  him  now  !  Hi-igh,  there. 
Hi-igh  !  See  him  !  He  thinks  he  's  a  goin'  to 
cut  'n'  run,  does  he  ?  He  must  be  green. 

Away  goes  Mr.  Hayle's  board  fence  into  the 
bean  patch,  and  down  goes  Bub  into  the  hogs- 
head. There  's  a  contest  for  you  !  All  Bub's  poor 
little  puzzling  soul  is  in  his  eyes.  All  his  old 
young  face  —  the  only  old  young  thing  in  the 
dawning  time  —  is  filled  and  fired.  Won't  he 
have  that  rat  ?  Five  hundred  cascades  might 
play  upon  the  pure  bosom  of  the  river,  and  all 
the  buttercups  in  Five  Falls  kneel  for  baptism, 
—  but  he  '11  have  that  rat. 

The  smooth,  round  cheek  of  the  sky  seems  to 
stoop  to  the  very  hogshead,  and  lay  itself  ten- 
derly down  to  cover  the  child  and  the  vermin 
from  the  sight  of  the  restful  time. 


Economical.  207 

Presently  it  begins  to  be  very  doubtful  who 
shall  cut  'n'  run.  And  by  and  by  it  begins  to  be 
more  than  doubtful  who  must  be  green. 

At  one  fell  swoop  of  anguish,  Bub  finds  his 
dirty  little  finger  bitten  to  the  bone,  and  himself 
alone  in  the  hogshead. 

Ui-igh  ! 

Bub  sits  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  hogshead 
and  grits  his  teeth.  He  does  n't  cry,  you  un- 
derstand. Not  he.  Used  to  cry  when  he  got 
bit.  And  holler.  But  got  so  old  he  give  it  up. 
Lor.  Ain't  he  glad  none  the  other  coves  knows 
now.  You  bet.  Hi-igh. 

All  the  foreheads  of  the  buttercups  and  clovers 
seem  dripping  with  sacred  water,  when  Bub  lifts 
his  little  aged  yellow  face  with  the  dirt  and 
blood  and  tobacco  upon  it,  over — just  over  — 
the  edge  of  the  hogshead  to  see  what  became  of 
the  rat.  The  cheek  of  the  sky  blushes  a  sadder 
red  for  shame.  The  sleepy  pine-trees  stretch  their 
arms  out  solemnly  towards  the  little  fellow.  The 
cascades  are  at  play  with  each  other's  hands  and 
feet.  The  great  pulse  of  the  dam,  as  sad  as  life, 
as  inexorable  as  death,  as  mysterious  as  both, 
beats  confused  meanings  into  the  quiet  time. 


208  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Lor,"  says  Bub  in  the  hogshead,  looking  out, 
half  pausing  for  the  instant  with  his  gashed  finger 
at  his  sly  mouth,  — "  Lor,  it 's  goin'  to  be  a  boozier 
of  a  day.  I  '11  bet." 

But  the  bells  have  waked,  with  a  cross  cry,  and 
Five  Falls  starts,  to  stand  for  eleven  hours  and  a 
half  upon  its  feet.  The  peaceful  time  has  slipped 
and  gone.  The  pine-trees  rub  their  eyes  and 
sigh.  The  pulse  of  the  dam  throbs  feverishly 
fast.  The  sun  dries  the  baptismal  drops  from  the 
heads  of  the  buttercups  and  clovers.  The  dew- 
laid  streets  fill  and  throng  ;  the  people  have  dirty 
clothes  and  hurried  faces  ;  the  dust  flies  about ; 
the  East  Street  tenements  darken  to  the  sight  in 
the  creeping  heat,  like  the  habit  of  old  sins  re- 
turned to  darken  a  sad  and  sorry  life  ;  you  see 
that  there  are  villanous  stairs  and  no  drains  ; 
you  hear  coughing  and  confusion  from  the 
woman's  bedchamber  overhead.  You  see,  too, 
that  the  spotless  cheek  of  the  sky  is  blackened 
now  by  the  chimneys  all  about,  and  how  still  and 
patiently  it  lies  to  take  the  breath  of  the  toil- 
worn  town. 

Only  those  tiny  cascades  play  —  eternal  chil- 
dren —  upon  a  mother's  bosom  ;  as  if  the  heart 


Economical.  209 

of  a  little  child,  just  for  being  the  heart  of  a  little 
child,  must  somehow,  somewhere,  play  forever  in 
the  smile  of  an  undying  morning. 

By  means  of  stopping  to  have  his  finger  bound, 
and  of  a  search  in  the  bean-patch  for  the  rat,  and 
of  another  search  in  the  cellar  for  the  rat,  and  of 
the  delay  occasioned  by  a  vindictive  kick  or  two 
at  the  hogshead,  and  by  forgetting  his  breakfast 
and  remembering  it,  and  going  back  for  it  to  find 
that  it  is  all  eaten,  if  indeed  there  has  ever  been 
any,  which  the  confusion  in  the  sick-room  ren- 
ders a  probable  theory,  Bub  is  late  this  morning. 
Nynee  was  cross  about  the  finger,  too  ;  pulled 
the  thread  and  hurt  him  ;  wanted  her  own  break- 
fast probably.  Bub's  little  old  face  wears  an  extra 
shade  of  age  and  evil  as  he  trots  away  to  work, 
and  he  swears  roundly  by  the  way  ;  swears  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  across  the  street,  for  Mr. 
Garrick,  on  his  way  to  the  station,  turns  his  head 
to  look  after  the  child.  Bub  shies  away  ;  has 
been  a  little  skittish  about  Mr.  Garrick,  since  they 
tried  to  put  him  to  school  and  his  father  swore 
him  off  for  ten  years  old.  It  is  generally  under- 
stood now  in  Hayle  and  Kelso  that  the  firm  occa- 
sionally pull  in  different  ways  ;  Mr.  Mell  knows 


2io  The  Silent  Partner. 

where  to  trace  any  unusual  disturbance  of  his 
family  government  which  is  calculated  to  arrest 
a  child's  steady  stride  to  ruined  manhood  ;  every- 
body knows  ;  Mr.  Garrick  is  unpopular  accord- 
ingly. He  has  his  friends  among  his  work-people, 
chiefly  of  the  kind  that  do  not  easily  come  to 
the  surface.  The  young  watchman  at  the  Old 
Stone  is  one  of  them,  you  may  be  sure.  But  he 
is  not  a  popular  master  so  far. 

Bub,  with  his  sly  eyes,  and  tobacco-yellowed 
skin,  and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  the  blood 
and  dirt  upon  his  clothes,  and  the  little  rag  be- 
hind, and  his  old,  old  smile,  trots  away  to  the 
mills,  whose  open  door  has,  to  Mr.  Garrick's 
fancy,  an  air  of  gaping  after  the  child. 

"  As  a  prison-door  will  do  in  the  end,"  muses 
Mr.  Garrick. 

He  takes  a  note-book  from  his  pocket,  jotting 
something  in  it ;  about  the  child,  perhaps.  He 
has  been  making  an  estimate  this  week  of  the 
suffering  and  profligate  children  in  his  mills. 
There  are  few  vices  on  the  statute-book  which 
he  has  not  found  in  existence  among  the  little 
children  in  those  mills. 

The  leaf  of  the  note-book  turns,  in  closing,  to 
recent  entries,  which  run  like  this  :  — 


Economical.  2 1 1 

"  Said  the  chaplain  of  an  English  prison,  after 
showing  the  cost  of  ninety-eight  juvenile  crim- 
inals to  the  State,  in  six  years,  to  have  amounted, 
in  various  ways,  to  £  6,063  ($  3°>3I5) :  '  They  have 
cost  a  sum  of  money  which  would  have  kept  tJicm 
at  a  boarding-school  the  whole  time! 

"  Said  the  Honorable,  the  late  Clerk  of  the  Police 
of  Fall  River,  Mass.,  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  as 
to  the  number  of  children  in  that  town  peculiarly 
exposed  to  a  life  of  crime  :....'!  should  say, 
after  consulting  the  docket  of  our  Police  Court, 
and  inquiring  as  to  the  subsequent  expenses,  that 
the  cost  of  such  juvenile  offenders  as  ultimately 
reach  the  State  Prison  would  average  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars.  We  have  had  some  who 
have  cost  much  more  than  this ;  one  as  much  as 
five  hundred  dollars.' " 

Mr.  Garrick  glances  over  them  with  his  pecu- 
liar smile,  just  as  Bub  and  the  little  wagging  rag 
disappear  in  the  yawn  of  the  mill-door. 

There  is  another  noticeable  entry,  by  the  way, 
in  Mr.  Garrick's  note-book.  It  lies  against  little 
Dib  Docket's  name  :  — 

"  In  H the  Chief  of  the  Police  estimates  the 

number  of  openly  abandoned  women  at  not  less 


212  The  Silent  Partner. 

than  seventy-five,  besides  an  equal  number  of  a 
less  notorious  and  degraded  class.  '  They  are,' 
said  he,  'brought  before  the  Police  Court  again 
and  again.  Most  of  them  are  under  twenty  years 
of  age.  They  come  from  the  country  and  the 
manufacturing  towns.  They  are  the  children  of 
drunken  and  vicious  parents.'  " 

Bub  dips  into  the  mouth  of  the  door  and  crawls 
up  the  stairs  on  "all  fours,"  so  much,  so  very 
much  like  a  little  puppy  !  He  is  a  little  afraid 
of  his  overseer,  being  so  late.  At  the  top  of  the 
stairs  he  loiters  and  looks  down.  In  the  blue 
distance  beyond  the  windows,  the  cascades  are 
just  to  be  seen  at  their  eternal  play. 

The  machinery  is  making  a  great  noise  this 
morning.  The  girls  are  trying  to  sing,  but  the 
engines  have  got  hold  of  the  song,  and  crunch 
it  well.  Bub,  on  the  threshold  of  the  spooling- 
room,  stops  with  a  queer  little  chuckle  like  a  sigh. 

He  wishes  he  need  n't  go  in.  It  looks  kinder 
jolly  out.  Lor !  don't  it  ?  Would  a'most  go  to 
school  fur  the  sake  uv  gettin'  out.  But  guesses 
he  must  be  too  old. 

Won't  that  boss  jaw  this  mornin' !  He'll  bet 
Hi-igh  ! 


Economical.  2 1 3 

The  strain  from  down  stairs  struggles  and  faints 
as  Bub  goes  in  to  work  ;  as  if  the  engines  had  a 
mouthful  of  it,  and  were  ready  for  more. 

The  "boss"  does  "jaw"  this  morning.  Bub 
expects  it,  deserves  it,  bears  it,  hangs  his  head 
and  holds  his  tongue,  glad,  on  the  whole,  that  it  is 
no  worse.  A  cuff  or  a  kick  would  not  surprise 
him.  The  overseer  is  a  passionate  man,  of  a  race 
of  passionate  men  ;  an  overseer  by  birthright ; 
comes  from  a  family  of  them,  modernized,  in  a 
measure,  to  be  sure.  He  can  remember  when  his 
father,  being  an  overlooker  in  a  Rhode  Island  mill, 
carried  to  work  a  leathern  strap,  with  tacks  in- 
serted, for  the  flagellation  of  children.  This  man 
himself  can  tell  you  of  children  whom  he  has  run, 
in  some  parts  of  the  country,  at  night  work,  when 
the  little  creatures  dropped  asleep  upon  their 
feet,  and  he  was  obliged  to  throw  water  over 
them  to  keep  them  awake  and  at  work. 

The  girls  down  stairs  are  singing  something 
this  morning  about  a  "  Happy  Day."  Bub,  dimly 
hearing,  dimly  wonders  what ;  having  never  had 
but  one  green  boy  at  the  Mission,  does  not  know  ; 
thinks  it  has  a  pretty  sound,  wishes  the  wheels 
would  let  it  alone,  hopes  the  boss  is  out  of  the  way 


214  The  Silent  Partner. 

now,  wishes  he  had  a  chew,  finds  himself  out  of 
tobacco,  and  recovers  sufficiently  from  the  morti- 
fication of  the  "jawing"  to  lift  his  little,  wrinkled 
face  —  it  seems  as  if  it  never  before  had  borne 
such  wrinkles  —  to  see  what  he  can  do  about  it. 

Another  little  wrinkled  face,  old,  yellow,  sly, 
and  sad,  works  close  beside  him.  It  has  mouth 
and  pockets  full  of  quids. 

"  Give  us  a  chaw,"  says  Bub. 

"  Not  much,"  says  the  little  face,  with  a  wink. 

"  Seems  as  if  I  should  choke ! "  says  Bub.  "  I 
must  have  a  chaw,  Bill." 

"  You  don't  do  none  of  my  chawin',"  says  Bill, 
"  less  'n  five  cents  down." 

"  Fact  is,"  says  Bub,  ruefully,  "  I  'm  out  o'  cash 
just  now.  Never  you  mind,  though." 

Bub  minds,  however.  He  goes  to  work  again 
with  one  eye  on  Bill.  Bill's  pocket  is  torn  down. 
He  must  be  green.  You  could  a'most  get  a  quid 
out  and  he  'd  never  know  it.  Bub  watches  his 
chance.  He  must  have  tobacco  at  any  chance. 
The  child  lives  upon  it,  like  an  old  toper  on  his 
dram.  Every  inch  of  his  little  body  craves  it 
He  is  in  a  dry,  feverish  heat.  He  thinks  he  shall 
burn  up,  if  he  does  not  get  it.  To  work  tiU 


Economical.  2 1 5 

nooning  without  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  He 
meant  to  have  sold  that  rat  to  a  chap  he  knew, 
and  to  have  been  supplied. 

Think  a  cove  of  his  size  can  work  all  day 
without  it  ?  You  —  bet  —  not  — 

There  is  a  spring  and  a  cry.  Bub  has  pounced 
upon  Bill's  torn  pocket.  Bill  has  backed,  and 
dragged  him.  The  wagging  rag  on  Bub's  little 
trousers  has  caught  in  a  belt. 

All  over  the  spooling-room  there  is  a  spring 
and  a  cry. 

All  up  the  stairs  there  seems  to  be  a  spring 
and  a  cry.  They  come  from  the  song  about  the 
Happy,  Happy  Day.  The  engines  close  teeth  on 
the  song  and  the  child  together. 

They  .stop  the  machinery  ;  they  run  to  and 
fro  ;  they  huddle  together ;  they  pick  up  some- 
thing here,  and  wipe  up  something  there,  and 
cover  up  something  yonder,  closely  ;  they  look 
at  one  another  with  white  faces  ;  they  sit  down 
sickly  ;  they  ask  what  is  to  do  next. 

There  is  nothing  to  do.  Bub  has  saved  the 
State  his  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  has 
Bill's  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  mangled  hand. 
There  is  nothing  to  do.  Life,  like  everything 


2i6  The  Silent  Partner. 

else,  was  quite  too  young  for  Bub.     He  has  got 
so  old,  he  has  given  it  up. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  carry  the  news 
now ;  nobody  likes  to  carry  the  news  to  the  sick 
woman  ;  nobody  offers  ;  the  overseer,  half  wish- 
ing that  there  had  been  an  oath  or  two  less  in 
the  "jawing,"  volunteers  to  help  about  the  —  the 
— pieces,  if  they  '11  find  somebody  to  go  on  ahead. 
That's  all  he  objects  to  ;  goin*  on  ahead. 

Mr.  Hayle  the  senior,  who  has  been  summoned 
from  the  counting-room,  takes  his  hat  to  go  in 
search  of  some  one  ;  would  go  himself,  but  the 
fact  is,  he  has  never  seen  the  woman,  nor  the 
father  to  know  him  by  name,  and  feels  a  delicacy 
about  obtruding  his  services.  He  mentions  the 
matter  to  his  son,  but  Maverick  succinctly  re- 
fuses ;  remembers  just  now,  for  the  first  time 
since  it  happened,  some  long-past  allusion  of 
Miss  Kelso's  to  a  drain,  and  concludes  that  his 
personal  sympathy  can  hardly  be  the  most 
desirable  to  offer  to  Mr.  Mell. 

Just  without  the  mill-yard,  bent  upon  some 
early  errand  of  her  own,  the  two  gentlemen 
chance  upon  Perley. 


Economical,  217 

"Ask  her"  says  the  younger  man,  in  a  low 
voice  ;  "she  would  do  to  break  ill  news  to  the 
mother  of  the  Maccabees." 

They  pause  to  tell  her  what  has  happened  ; 
their  shocked  faces  speak  faster  than  their  slow 
words  ;  she  understands  quite  what  is  needed  of 
her ;  has  turned  the  corner  to  East  Street,  while 
their  unfinished  explanation  hangs  upon  their 
decorous  lips. 

The  young  man  stands  for  a  moment  looking 
after  her  swift,  strong,  helpful  figure,  as  it 
vanishes  from  view,  with  a  sense  of  puzzled  loss 
upon  his  handsome  face,  but  shrugs  his  shoulders, 
and  back  in  the  counting-room  shrugs  them 
again. 

Perley  is  none  too  soon  at  the  First  Tenement 
and  No.  6. 

The  overlooker  and  his  covered  burden,  and 
the  little  crowd  that  trails  whispering  after  it, 
are  just  in  sight,  as  she  climbs  the  villanous 
stairs. 

The  overlooker,  and  the  covered  burden,  and 
the  whispering  crowd,  are  none  too  late  at  the 
First  Tenement  and  No.  6. 

Mr.  Mell  comes  out  from  the  sick-room  on 

10 


2i8  The  Silent  Partner. 

tiptoe ;  the  children  crouch  and  hide  their  faces 
behind  the  door  ;  the  doctor,  who  has  been-,,  has 
gone,  and  the  coughing  and  confusion  are  quite 
over. 

Mr.  Mell  stands  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
kitchen,  with  his  hand  at  his  ear.  Whether  he 
is  listening  to  a  thing  which  Perley  says,  —  a 
gentle,  awful  thing,  said  in  a  gentle,  awful  voice, 
—  or  whether  he  is  listening  to  certain  sounds  of 
feet  upon  the  stairs,  it  were  difficult  to  say. 

He  stands  still  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen, 
with  his  hand  behind  his  ear. 

The  feet  upon  the  stairs  have  climbed  the 
stairs,  have  passed  the  stairs,  have  passed  the 
door,  have  paused. 

The  overlooker,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  has 
laid  the  covered  burden  softly  down  upon  the 
mat  behind  the  door,  where  the  little  burden, 
like  a  little  puppy,  slept  last  night. 

Mr.  Mell  sits  down  then  in  the  nearest  chair. 
He  points  at  the  open  bedroom  door.  He  seems 
to  be  weak  from  watching,  and  the  hand  with 
which  he  points  trembles  badly. 

"  Do  you  see  ?  "  he  says.  "  Look  there.  See, 
don't  ye  ?  I  'm  glad  ye  did  n't  come  ten  minute 


Economical.  2 1 9 

sooner.  It  would  ha'  ben  such  a  fretful  thing  for 
her.  She  would  ha'  greeted  sair,  I  'm  feared. 
Keep  the  laddie  well  covered,  will  ye?  I  wald 
na'  like  so  much  as  her  dead  een  to  seem  to  see 
it.  It  would  ha"  ben  sae  fretful  for  her ;  I  wald 
na'  likit  to  see  her  greetin'  ower  the  laddie.  I 
wald  na'  likit  yon  ;  keep  him  covered,  will  ye  ? " 

It  is  very  touching  to  hear  the  man  mourn 
in  the  old  long-disused  Scotch  words  of  his 
youth,  and  very  touching  to  hear  what  a  cry 
there  is  in  the  words  themselves. 

But  it  is  not  heart-breaking,  like  the  thing 
which  he  says  in  broad  English,  next.  It  is  after 
the  overlooker  has  gone,  and  the  covered  burden 
is  laid  decently  upon  a  bed,  and  Perley  has  been 
busied  in  and  out  of  the  bedroom,  and  the  chil- 
dren have  been  washed  a  little,  and  the  "second 
gell,"  crying  bitterly  over  a  cup  of  coffee  which 
she  is  trying  to  make,  has  been  comforted,  and  a 
cleanly  silence  has  fallen  upon  the  two  rooms, 
and  upon  the  two  beds  with  their  mute  occupants. 
It  is  after  he  has  sat  stupidly  still  with  his  face 
in  his  hands.  It  is  just  as  Perley,  seeing  nothing 
more  that  she  can  do  for  him,  is  softly  shutting 
the  door  to  go  and  find  flowers  for  little  Bub. 


220  The  Silent  Partner. 

"Look  a  here.  Say  !  What  damages  do  you 
think  the  mills  '//  give  me  ?  I  W  ought  to  have 
damages  on  the  loss  of  the  boys  wages.  He  was 
earniri  reglar,  and growin'  too" 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Parley  finds  a  girl 
with  large  eyes,  and  soiled  blue  ribbons  on  her 
hair,  sitting  and  sobbing  in  her  mill-dress,  rub- 
bing the  dust  about  her  pretty  face. 

"  I  would  n't  sit  here,  Nynee,"  suggests  Perley 
gently  ;  "  go  up  and  help  your  sister,  and  do  not 
cry." 

"  It  seems  as  if  everything  fretful  happened  to 
me,"  sobs  Nynee,  pettishly.  "  The  mills  was  bad 
enough.  Then  it  was  mother,  and  then  it  was 
somebody  comin'  in  to  tell  me  about  Bub,  and 
now  it  's  both  of  'em.  I  wish  I  'd  tied  up  Bub's 
finger  pleasant  this  morning.  It  '11  be  fretfuller 
than  ever  to  home  now.  I  wish  I  was  dead  like 
them  two  ;  yes,  I  do.  I  had  other  things  that 
bothered  me  besides.  I  did  n't  want  no  more  ! " 

"  What  other  things  ?  "  asks  Perley,  very  gently 
sitting  down  on  the  stairs,  and  very  wisely  taking 
no  heed  just  now  of  the  little  miserable,  selfish 
sobs. 

"  O,    different    things.      Things    about    some- 


Economical.  221 

body  that  I  —  like,  and  somebody  that  I  don't 
like,  and  some  folks  that  like  some  folks  better 
than  me.  I  was  bothered  to  death  before  !  "  cries 
Nynee. 

"  Some  time,"  says  Parley,  "  you  shall  tell  me  all 
about  them.  Run  up  to  your  sister,  now." 

Nynee  runs  up,  and  Perley,  in  going  for  Bub's 
flowers,  thinks  that  she  would  rather  gain  the 
hearing  of  that  little  love-story,  sitting  on  the 
dirty  stairs,  than  to  get  the  girl  to  church  with 
her  for  a  year  to  come. 


222  The  Silent  Partner. 


CHAPTER     XI. 

GOING   INTO   SOCIETY. 

FLIGHTED,  Parley,  I  am  sure,  and  shall 
be  sure  to  come.  Nothing  could  give 
us  greater  pleasure  than  a  day  with  you  in  your 
lovely,  Quixotic,  queer  venture  of  a  home.  Mam- 
ma begs  me,  with  her  love  and  acceptance,  to 
assure  you  that  she  appreciates,"  etc.,  etc. 

"  As  for  my  friends,  the  Van  Doozles  of  New 
York,  you  know,  (it  is  Kenna  Van  Doozle  who  is 
engaged  to  Mr.  Blodgett,)  they  are  charmed.  It 
was  just  like  you  to  remember  them  in  your 
kind,"  etc. 

"  And  actually  to  see  for  ourselves  one  of  your 
dear,  benevolent,  democratic,  strong-minded  rf- 
nnions,  of  which  we  have  heard  so  much !  What 
could  be  more  ?  "  etc. 

"  I  promise  you  that  I  will  be  very  good  and 
considerate  of  yo\\r  proteges.  I  will  wear  nothing 
gayer  than  a  walking-suit,  and  I  will  inform  myself 


Going  into  Society.  223 

beforehand  upon  the  ten-hour  question,  and  I  will 
be  as  charming  as  I  know  how,  so  that  you  shall 
not  regret  having  honored  me  by,"  etc. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  Perley,  I  cannot  come  to 
Five  Falls  without  telling  you  myself  what  I 
should  break  my  heart  if  you  should  hear  from 
anybody  but  myself. 

"  I  know  that  you  must  have  guessed  my  little 
secret  before  now.  But  Mavsiick  and  I  thought 
that  we  should  like  at  least  to  pretend  that  it  was 
a  secret  for  a  little  while. 

"  Ah,  Perley,  I  see  your  great  wise  eyes  smile  ! 
Do  you  know,  I  suspect  that  you  were  too  wise  for 
him,  dear  boy  \  He  seems  to  think  a  little,  fool- 
ish, good-for-nothing  girl  like  me  would  make 
him  happy. 

"  And  I  know  he  wants  me  to  say,  dear  Perley, 
how  we  have  neither  of  us  ever  had  any  hardness 
in  our  hearts  towards  you,  or  ever  can.  How 
can  we  now  ?  We  are  so  very  happy !  And  I 
know  how  wise  he  thinks  you  still,  and  how 
good.  So  very  good  !  A  great  deal  better  than 
his  ridiculous  little  Fly,  I  have  no  doubt ;  but 
then,  you  see,  we  don't  either  of  us  mind  that," 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


224  The  Silent  Partner. 

Fly's  note  preceded  Fly  by  but  a  few  hours,  it 
so  chanced.  That  evening  Miss  Kelso's  parlors 
presented  what  Fly  perhaps  was  justified  in  call- 
ing "  such  a  dear,  delightful,  uncommon  appear- 
ance." 

Kenna  Van  Doozle  called  it  outrf.  She  was 
sitting  on  a  sofa  by  Nynee  Mell  when  she  said  so. 

It  was  a  stifling  July  night,  and  closed  a  stifling 
day.  Mrs.  Silver,  in  the  cars,  on  the  Shore  Line, 
and  swept  by  sea  breezes,  had  "  suffered  agonies," 
so  she  said.  Even  in  the  close  green  dark  of 
Miss  Kelso's  lofty  rooms,  life  had  ceased  to  be  de- 
sirable, and  the  grasshopper  had  been  a  burden, 
until  dusk  and  dew-fall. 

"  In  the  houses  from  which  my  guests  are 
coming  to-night,"  she  had  said  at  supper,  "  the 
mercury  has  not  been  below  90°,  day  nor  night, 
for  a  week." 

Her  guests  seemed  to  appreciate  the  fact  ; 
shunned  the  hot  lawn  and  garden,  where  a  pretty 
show  of  Chinese  lanterns  and  a  Niobe  at  a  foun- 
tain (new  upon  the  .grounds,  this  year)  usually 
attracted  them,  and  grouped  in  the  preserved 
coolness  of  the  parlor. 

Her  guests,  in  those  parlors,  were  worth  a  ride 
from  town  in  the  glare  to  meet. 


Going  into  Society.  225 

There  were  some  thirty,  perhaps,  in  all  ;  fami- 
lies, for  the  most  part,  just  as  they  came.  Mr. 
Mell,  for  instance,  in  decent  clothes ;  the  "  second 
gell,"  with  one  of  the  children  ;  Nynee,  in  light 
muslin  and  bright  ribbons  ;  old  Bijah  Mudge  in 
a  corner  with  little  Dib  Docket,  —  they  sent  Dib 
to  the  poorhouse  by  especial  permit  to  bring 
him,  always  ;  Catty,  closely  following  the  soft 
flutter  of  the  hostess's  plain  white  dress  (Sip  was 
delayed,  nobody  knew  just  why) ;  and  Dirk  Bur- 
dock, apart  from  the  other  young  fellows,  drift- 
ing restlessly  in  and  out  of  the  hot,  bright  lawn  ; 
little  knots  of  young  people  chattering  over  pic- 
ture-racks ;  a  sound  of  elections  and  the  evening 
news  in  other  knots  where  their  fathers  stood  with 
hands  behind  them  ;  the  elder  women  easily 
seated  in  easy-chairs  ;  a  tangle  about  the  piano, 
where  a  young  weaver  was  doing  a  young  waltz 
very  well. 

Now  there  was  one*  very  remarkable  thing 
about  these  thirty  people.  With  the  exception 
of  a  little  plainness  about  their  dress  (plainness 
rather  than  roughness,  since  in  America  we  will 
die  of  bad  drainage,  but  we  will  manage  to  have 
a  "  best  suit "  when  occasion  requires)  and  an  air 

10*  O 


226  The  Silent  Partner. 

of  really  enjoying  themselves,  they  did  not,  after 
all,  leave  a  very  different  impression  upon  the 
superficial  spectator  from  that  of  any  thirty  peo- 
ple whom  Fly  Silver  might  collect  at  a  musi- 
cale. 

The  same  faces  at  their  looms  to-morrow  you 
could  not  identify. 

"I  suppose  they  're  on  their  best  behavior," 
suggested  Fly,  in  an  opportunity. 

"  What  have  you  and  I  been  on  all  our  lives  ?  " 
asked  Perley,  smiling.  "  One  does  not  behave 
till  one  has  a  chance." 

"  And  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  us,"  observed 
Fly,  with  some  surprise.  "  I  was  afraid  we  should 
make  it  awkward  for  them." 

"  But  how,"  asked  Miss  Van  Doozle,  with 
her  pale  eyes  full  of  a  pale  perplexity,  —  "  you 
are  exceedingly  original,  I  know,  —  but  how,  for 
instance,  have  you  ever  brought  this  about  ?  I 
had  some  such  people  once,  in  a  mission  class ;  I 
could  do  nothing  with  them  ;  they  pulled  the  fur 
out  of  my  muff,  and  got  up  and  left  in  the  middle 
of  the  second  prayer." 

"  /  have  brought  nothing  about,"  said  Perley, 
"  They  have  brought  themselves  about.  All  that 


Going  into  Society.  227 

I  do  is  to  treat  these  people  precisely  as  I  treat 
you,  Miss  Van  Doozle." 

"  Ah  ? "  blankly  from  Miss  Van  Doozle. 

"  For  instance,"  said  the  hostess  in  moving 
away,  "  I  get  up  thirty  or  so  of  those  every  fort- 
night. I  don't  know  how  this  came  here.  Put  it 
in  your  pocket,  please." 

She  tossed  from  the  card-basket  a  delicate 
French  envelope,  of  the  latest  mode  of  monogram 
and  tint,  enclosing  a  defective  invitation  in  her 
own  generous  hand,  running  :  — 

"  Miss  Kelso  requests  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Mell's 
company  at  half  past  seven  o'clock  on  Friday  even- 
ing next. 

"July  15." 

"  Perley,"  observed  Mrs.  Silver,  pensively, 
"  ought  to  have  been  a  literary  character.  I  have 
always  said  so  ;  have  n't  I,  Fly  ?  " 

"  Why,  mamma  ? "  asked  Fly. 

"  That  excuses  so  much  always,  my  dear,"  softly 
said  Mrs.  Silver. 

There  seemed  to  be  some  stir  and  stop  in  Miss 
Kelso's  "  evening,"  that  hot  Friday.  Dirk  Bur- 
dock, restlessly  diving  in  and  out  of  the  lawn, 
finally  found  his  hat,  and,  apparently  at  the  host- 


228  The  Silent  Partner. 

ess's  request,  excused  himself  and  disappeared. 
The  young  weaver  played  the  young  waltz  out, 
and  politics  in  corners  lulled. 

"  It  is  a  Victor  Hugo  evening,"  explained  Miss 
Kelso  to  her  friends  from  town,  "  and  our  reader 
has  not  come.  We  always  manage  to  accomplish 
something.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  an 
essay  on  Burns  from  a  Scotchman  out  of  the 
printing-rooms,  a  fortnight  ago.  Or  some  of  our 
Dickens  readings.  Something  of  that  or  this 
kind  takes  better  with  the  men  than  a  musical 
night ;  though  we  have  some  fine  voices,  I  assure 
you.  I  wish,  Fly,  you  would  play  to  us  a  little, 
while  we  are  waiting." 

Fly,  not  quite  knowing  what  else  to  do,  but  feel- 
ing surprisingly  ill  at  ease,  accomplished  a  sweet 
little  thin  thing,  and  was  prettily  thanked  by 
somebody  somewhere  ;  but  still  the  reader  had 
not  come. 

It  has  been  said,  upon  authority,'  that  the 
next  thing  which  happened  was  the  Andante  from 
the  Seventh  Symphony,  Miss  Kelso  herself  at 
the  keys. 

Mrs.  Silver  looked  at  Miss  Van  Doozle.  Miss 
Van  Doozle  looked  at  Mrs.  Silver. 


Going  into  Society.  229 

"  She  has  made  a  mistake,"  said  Mrs.  Silver's 
look. 

"  The  people  cannot  appreciate  Beethoven," 
was  Miss  Van  Doozle's  look. 

Now,  in  truth,  Beethoven  could  not  have  asked 
a  stiller  hearing  than  he  and  Miss  Kelso  com- 
manded out  of  those  thirty  work-worn  factory 
faces. 

The  blind-mute  Catty  stood  beside  Miss  Kelsc* 
while  she  played.  She  passed  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  like  feathers  over  the  motion  of  Perley's 
hands.  It  was  a  privilege  she  had.  She  bent 
her  head  forward,  with  her  lip  dropped  and  dull. 

"  When  she  plays,"  she  often  said  to  Sip, 
"  there  's  wings  of  things  goes  by." 

"  What,  wings  ?  "   asked  Sip. 

"  I  don't  know  —  wings.  When  I  catch,  they 
fly." 

Miss  Kelso's  elegant  white,  without  flaw  or 
pucker  of  trimming,  presented  a  broad  and  shin- 
ing background  to  the  poor  creature's  puzzled 
figure.  Catty  seemed  to  borrow  a  glory  from  it, 
as  a  lean  Byzantine  Madonna  will,  from  her 
gilded  sky.  Mrs.  Silver  fairly  wiped  her  eyes. 

After  Beethoven  there  was  Nynee  Mell,  with  a 


230  The  Silent  Partner. 

song  or  two  in  Scotch  ;  and  then  another  stop 
and  stir.  The  reader,  they  said,  was  coming. 

Fly  Silver,  in  the  pauses,  had  done  very  well. 
She  was  a  good-hearted  little  lady,  and  nobody 
succeeded  in  being  afraid  of  her.  She  had  cate- 
chised Dib  Docket  a  little,  and  effected  a  timid 
acquaintance  with  Bijah  Mudge.  The  old  man 
was  in  a  wise  dotage  peculiarly  his  own.  He 
came,  however,  regularly  to  Miss  Kelso's  "  even- 
ings "  ;  enjoyed  his  saucer  of  ice-cream  as  much 
as  any  other  child  there  ;  and  yet  always  managed 
to  gather  about  him  a  little  audience  of  men  with 
frowns  in  their  foreheads,  who  listened  to  his 
wild  ravings  with  a  kind  of  instinctive  respect, 
which  pleased  the  old  fellow  amazingly. 

He  had  a  paper  in  his  hand  which  he  showed 
to  Fly.  He  always  had  a  paper  in  his  hand.  It 
was  a  petition  to  the  Legislature  of  the  State  of 
Massachusetts,  with  illustrated  margins  of  etch- 
ings in  pen  and  ink.  The  designs  ran  all  to  foli- 
age, —  indiscriminate  underbrush  at  first  glance  ; 
upon  examination,  forests  came  out  in  rows  ;  upon 
study,  hands  came  out  from  the  forests,  hundreds 
of  them,  from  bough,  from  twig,  from  stem,  from 
leaf.  The  forest  on  the  left  margin  wrung  its 


Going  into  Society.  231 

hands,  it  seemed.  The  forest  on  the  right  mar- 
gin clapped  them  smartly. 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Fly,  politely. 

"  Is  it  not  written,"  said  the  old  man,  solemnly, 
"  that  in  that  day  all  the  trees  of  the  field  shall 
clap  their  hands  ? " 

"  But  what  about  ? "  persisted  Fly. 

"  The  voice  said,  '  Cry  ! '  "  said  Bijah,  shrilly  ; 
"and  I  said,  'What  shall  I  cry?'"  He  lifted 
his  petition  to  the  Legislature  of  the  State  of 
Massachusetts  in  his  shaking  hand,  and  fixed  his 
bleared  eyes  over  it  upon  Fly's  pretty,  fright- 
ened face.  "  What  shall  I  cry  ?  '  And  thou 
saidst  in  thine  heart,  I  shall  be  a  lady  forever ;  so 
that  thou  didst  not  lay  these  things  to  thy  heart, 
neither  didst  remember  the  latter  end  of  it ! ' " 

"  O  dear  ! "  said  Fly,  and  rippled  away. 

"A  Hebrew  prophet  and  a  canary-bird," 
thought  Perley,  when  she  heard  of  it. 

Fly  rippled  out  into  the  hall,  where  the  stir 
and  stop  seemed  to  have  centred.  The  hostess 
was  there,  talking  to  Sip  Garth  in  a  low  tone. 
Dirk  Burdock  was  there,  having  found  Sip,  he 
said,  half-way  over  ;  and  a  young  Irish  girl 
whom  Sip  had  with  her,  a  fine-featured  little 


232  The  Silent  Partner. 

creature,  with  heavy  sodden  circles  about  her  eyes 
and  mouth. 

She  was  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Sip  was  saying, 
"But  Maggie  'd  set  her  heart  so  on  coming,  you 
see  ;  and  there  she  lay  and  fainted,  and  I  have 
n't  been  able  to  bring  her  round  enough  to  get 
over  here  till  this  minute.  Her  folks  was  all 
away,  and  I  could  n't  seem  to  leave  her  ;  and 
she  did  so  set  her  heart  on  coming  !  She  has 
been  carried  in  a  faint  out  of  the  mill  four  times 
to-day  —  out  into  the  air,  and  a  dash  of  water  — • 
and  back  again  ;  and  down  again.  The  ther- 
mometer has  stood  at  115°  in  our  room  to-day. 
It  has  n't  been  below  1 10°  not  since  last  Satur- 
day. It's  125°  in  the  dressing-room.  There's 
men  in  the  dressing-room  with  the  blood  all 
gathered  black  about  their  faces,  just  from  heat ; 
they  look  like  men  in  a  fit ;  they  're  all  pur- 
ple. You  'd  ought  to  see  the  clothes  we  wear !  — 
drenched  like  fine  folks'  bathing-clothes.  I  could 
wring  mine  out.  We  call  it  the  lake  of  fire,  —  our 
room.  That 's  all  I  could  think  of  since  Sunday  : 
the  Last  Day  and  the  lake  with  all  the  folks  in  it. 
I  have  n't  been  in  such  a  coolness  not  since  I 
was  here  last  time,  Miss  Kelso.  It 's  most  as  bad 
as  hell  to  be  mill-folks  in  July  !  " 


Going  into  Society,  233 

"A  blowzy,  red-faced  girl,"  Miss  Van  Doozle 
thought,  when  the  reader  came  in. 

"  My  Lords  !  "  began  the  red-faced  reader,  "  I 
impart  to  you  a  novelty.  The  human  race  ex- 
ists "  .  .  .  . 

"  We  have  nothing  so  popular,"  whispered 
Miss  Kelso,  "  as  that  girl's  readings  and  recita- 
tions. They  ring  well." 

"  An  unappreciated  Siddons,  perhaps  ?  "  The 
pale  Van  Doozle  eyes  assumed  the  homoeopathic 
attenuation  of  a  sarcasm.  The  Van  Doozle  eyes 
were  not  used  to  Sip  exactly. 

"I  have  thought  that  there  might  be  greater 
than  Siddons  in  Sip,"  replied  Miss  Kelso,  mus- 
ingly ;  "  but  not  altogether  of  the  Siddons  sort,  I 
admit." 

Sip  followed  Miss  Kelso,  in  the  breaking  up  of 
the  evening,  after  the  books  and  the  ices  were 
out  of  the  way.  They  had  some  plan  about  the 
little  Irish  girl  already  ;  a  week's  rest  at  least. 
There  was  that  family  on  the  Shore  Line  ;  and 
the  hush  of  the  sea ;  where  they  took  such  care  of 
poor  Bert  Bush.  If  Catty  were  well,  Sip  would 
take  her  down. 

"  I  know  the  girl.     She  must  be  got  away  till 


234  The  Silent  Partner. 

this  drought 's  over.  She  '11  work  till  the  breath 
is  out  of  her,  but  she  '11  work  ;  has  a  brother  in 
an  insane  asylum,  and  likes  to  pay  his  board. 
Maggie 's  obstinate  as  death  about  such  things. 
You  'd  ought  to  see  her  pushing  back  her  hair 
and  laughing  out,  when  she  come  out  of  those 
faints  to-day,  and  at  it  again,  for  all  anybody 
could  say.  You  would  n't  think  that  she  'd  ever 
take  to  Jim,  would  you  ?  But  got  over  it,  I  guess. 
Had  a  hard  time,  though.  Look  here  !  I  found 
a  piece  in  a  newspaper  yesterday,  and  cut  it  out 
to  show  to  you." 

Sip  handed  to  Miss  Kelso,  with  a  smile,  a  slip 
from  one  of  the  leading  city  dailies,  reading 
thus : — 

"  What  is  generally  written  about  Lorenzo  fac- 
tory-girls is  sensational  and  pure  nonsense.  They 
are  described  as  an  overworked  class,  rung  up, 
rung  out,  rung  in  ;  as  going  to  their  labors  worn, 
dispirited,  and  jaded  ;  as  dreading  to  meet  their 
task-masters  in  those  stifling  rooms,  where  they 
have  cultivated  breathing  as  a  fine  art ;  as  com- 
ing home  from  their  thraldom  happy  but  for 
thoughts  of  the  resumption  of  their  toil  on  the 
morrow.  The  fact  is,  sympathy  has  been  offered 


Going  into  Society.  235 

where  it  was  not  needed.  The  officers  of  the  mills 
and  the  girls  themselves  will  tell  you  the  tasks 
are  not  exhaustive.  No  one  gets  so  tired  that 
she  cannot  enjoy  the  evening,  every  thought 
of  work  dismissed.  Her  employment  is  such  that 
constant  attention  is  not  demanded.  She  may 
frequently  sit  thinking  of  the  past  or  planning 
for  the  future.  She  earns  nearly  four  dollars  per 
week,  beside  her  board.  The  pleasantest  rela- 
tions subsist  between  her  and  her  overseer,  who 
is  frequently  the  depositary  of  her  funds,  who 
perhaps  goes  with  her  to  buy  her  wedding  or 
household  outfit,  who  is  her  counsellor  and  pro- 
tector. Her  step  is  not  inelastic,  but  firm 

The  mills  are  high  studded,  well  ventilated,  and 
scrupulously  clean.  The  girls  are  healthy  and  well 
looking,  and  men  and  women,  who  have  worked 
daily  for  twenty  or  thirty  years,  are  still  in  un- 
diminished  enjoyment  of  sound  lungs  and  limbs." 

"  I  never  was  in  Lorenzo,"  said  Sip,  drily,  as 
Perley  folded  the  slip,  "  but  mills  are  mills.  I  'd 
like  to  see  the  fellow  that  wrote  that." 

Fly  and  her  friends  had  sifted  into  the  library, 
ivhile  Miss  Kelso's  guests  were  thinning. 

"  This,  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Silver  was  sadly  say- 


236  The  Silent  Partner. 

ing,  "  is  but  a  specimen  of  our  poor  dear  Perley's 
life." 

"  You  speak  as  if  she  were  dead  and  buried, 
mamma,"  said  Fly,  making  a  dazzling  little  heap 
of  herself  upon  a  cricketful  of  pansies. 

"  So  she  is,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Silver,  plaintively, 
—  "  so  she  is,  my  dear,  as  far  as  Society  is  con- 
cerned. I  have  been  struck  this  evening  by  the 
thought,  what  a  loss  to  Society  !  Why,  Miss 
Kenna,  I  am  told  that  this  superb  house  has 
been  more  like  a  hospital  or  a  set  of  public  soup- 
rooms  for  six  months  past,  than  it  has  like  the 
retiring  and  secluded  home  of  a  young  lady. 
Those  people  overrun  it.  They  are  made  wel- 
come to  it  at  all  hours  and  under  all  circum- 
stances. She  invites  them  to  tea,  my  dear ! 
They  sit  down  at  her  very  table  with  her.  I 
have  known  her  to  bring  out  Mirabeau  from  town 
to  furnish  their  music  for  them.  Would  you 
credit  it  ?  Mirabeau  !  In  the  spring  she  bought 
a  Bierstadt.  I  was  with  her  at  the  time.  '  I 
have  friends  in  Five  Falls  who  have  never  seen 
a  Bierstadt,'  she  said.  Now  what  do  you  call 
that  ?  /  call  it  morbid,"  nodded  the  lady,  making 
soft  gestures  with  her  soft  hands,  —  "  morbid  ! " 


Going  into  Society.  237 

"  I  don't  suppose  anybody  knows  the  money 
that  she  has  put  into  her  libraries,  and  her  model 
tenements,  and  all  that,  either,"  mused  Fly,  from 
her  cricket. 

"It  does  well  enough  in  that  Mr.  Garrick," 
proceeded  Mrs.  Silver,  in  a  gentle  bubble  of  de- 
spair ;  "  I  don't  object  to  fanatical  benevolence  in 
a  man  like  him.  It  is  natural,  of  course.  He  is 
self-made  entirely  ;  twenty  years  ago  might  have 
come  to  Miss  Kelso's  evenings  himself,  you 
know.  It  is  excusable  in  him,  though  awkward 
in  the  firm,  as  I  had  reason  to  know,  when  he 
started  to  build  that  chapel.  Now  there  is 
another  of  poor  Perley's  freaks.  What  does 
she  do  but  leave  Dr.  Dremaine's,  where  she 
had  at  least  the  dearest  of  rectors  and  the  best 
pew-list  in  Five  Falls,  on  the  ground  that  the 
mill-people  do  not  frequent  Dr.  Dremaine's,  and 
take  a  pew  in  the  chapel  herself!  They  have  a 
young  preacher  there  fresh  from  a  seminary, 
and  Perley  and  the  mill-girls  will  sit  in  a  row 
together  and  hear  him !  Now  that  may  be 
Christianity,"  adds  Mrs.  Silver,  in  a  burst  of 
heroism,  "  but  /  call  it  morbidness,  sheer  mor- 
bidness ! " 


238  The  Silent  Partner. 

"But  these  people  are  very  fond  of  Perley, 
mamma,"  urged  Fly,  lifting  some  honest  trouble 
in  her  face  out  of  the  pretty  shine  that  she  made 
in  the  dim  library. 

"  They  ought  to  be  ! "  said  Mrs.  Silver,  with 
unwonted  sharpness. 

Now  Fly,  in  her  own  mind,  had  meant  to  find 
out  something  about  that ;  she  went  after  the 
Hugo  reader,  it  just  occurring  to  her,  and  took 
her  into  a  corner  before  everybody  was  gone. 

She  made  a  great  glitter  of  herself  here  too ; 
she  could  not  help  it,  in  her  shirred  lace  and 
garnets.  Sip  looked  her  over,  smiling  as  she 
would  at  a  pretty  kitten.  Sip  was  more  gentle 
in  her  judgments  of  "  that  kind  of  folks  "  than 
she  used  to  be. 

"  What  do  we  think  of  her?"  Sip's  fitful  face 
flushed.  "  How  can  I  tell  you  what  we  think  of 
her  ?  There  's  those  of  us  here,  young  girls  of  us," 
Nynee  Mell's  blue  ribbons,  just  before  them,  were 
fluttering  through  the  door,  "  that  she  has  saved 
from  being  what  you  would  n't  see  .in  here  to-night. 
There  's  little  children  here  that  would  be  little 
devils,  unless  it  was  for  her.  There  's  men  of  us 
with  rum  to  fight,  and  boys  in  prison,  and  debts  to 


Going  into  Society.  239 

pay,  and  hearts  like  hell,  and  never  a  friend  in 
this  world  or  the  other  but  her.  There  's  others 
of  us,  that  —  that  —  God  bless  her  !  "  broke  off 
Sip,  bringing  her  clenched  little  hands  together, 
—  "  God  bless  her,  and  the  ground  she  treads  on, 
and  the  air  she  breathes,  and  the  sky  that  is  over 
her,  and  the  friends  that  love  her,  and  the  walls 
of  her  grand  house,  and  every  dollar  of  her 
money,  and  every  wish  she  wishes,  and  all  the 
prayers  she  prays  —  but  I  cannot  tell  you,  young 
lady,  what  we  think  of  her  !  " 

"  But  Society,"  sighed  Mrs.  Silver,  —  "  Society 
has  rights  which  every  lady  is  bound  to  respect ; 
poor  Perley  forgets  her  duties  to  Society.  Where 
we  used  to  meet  her  in  our  circle  three  times,  we 
meet  her  once  now." 

"  Once  of  Perley  is  equal  to  three  times  of 
most  people,"  considered  Fly,  appearing  with 
Maverick  (who  had  slipped  in  as  the  "  evening  " 
slipped  out)  from  some  lovers'  corner.  "  And  she 
does  n't  rust,  you  must  own,  mamma  ;  and  seems 
to  enjoy  herself  so,  besides." 

"  I  have  understood,"  observed  the  elder  Miss 
Van  Doozle,  "  that  she  has  been  heard  to  say 


240  The  Siknt  Partner. 

that  she  could  never  spend  an  evening  in  an 
ordinary  drawing-room  party  happily  again." 

This,  in  fact,  was  a  report  very  common  about 
Miss  Kelso  at  one  time.  Those  well  acquainted 
with  her  and  with  her  movements  in  Five  Falls 
will  remember  it. 

"  Poor  Perley  "  herself  came  in  just  in  time  to 
hear  it  then. 

"  I  always  forgave  the  falsity  of  that,  for  the 
suggestiveness  of  it,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  A  thoughtful  set  of  guests  you  have  here," 
said  Fly.  "  We  have  been  finding  fault  with  you 
all  the  evening." 

"  That  is  what  I  expected." 

"  So  we  supposed.     Perley  !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Are  you  happy  ? " 

"  Quite  happy,  Fly." 

"  I  should  be  so  miserable ! "  said  Fly,  with  a 
shade  of  the  honest  trouble  still  on  her  pretty 
face. 

"  I  have  been  saying,"  began  Mrs.  Silver,  "  that 
Society  is  a  great  loser  by  your  philanthropy, 
Perley." 

Perley  lighted  there. 


Going  into  Society.  241 

"  Society  ! "  she  said,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  but 
just  begun  to  go  into  society  !  " 

"  But,  on  your  theories,"  said  Kenna  Van 
Doozle,  with  -a  clumsy  smile  of  hers,  "we  shall 
have  our  cooks  up  stairs  playing  whist  with  us, 
by  and  by." 

"  And  if  we  did  ? "  quietly.  "  But  Miss  Van 
Doozle,  I  am  not  a  reformer  ;  I  have  n't  come  to 
the  cooks  yet ;  I  am  only  a  feeler.  The  world 
gets  into  the  dark  once  in  a  while,  you  know  ; 
throws  out  a  few  of  us  for  groping  purposes." 

"  Kenna  and  I,  for  instance,  being  spots  on  the 
wings  ?  "  asked  Fly. 

"  Naturalists  insist  that  the  butterfly  will  pause 
and  study  its  own  wings,  wrapt  in  —  " 

"  O  Maverick  !  " 

"  Admiration,"  finished  Maverick. 

"  But  one  must  feel  by  something,"  persisted 
Fly,  "  guess  or  measure.  It  is  all  very  beautiful 
in  you,  Perley.  But  it  seems  to  me  such  a 
venture.  I  should  be  frightened  out  of  it  a  dozen 
times  over." 

Perley  took  a  little  book  out  of  a  rack  upon  one 
of  the  tables,  where  Mr.  Mell's  ice-cream  saucer  yet 
lay  unremoved, —  Isaac  Taylor  in  bevelled  board. 


242  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  "  is  enough  to  feel  by,  even 
if  I  feel  my  way  to  your  cook,  Miss  Kenna." 

"'  To  insure,  therefore,  its  large  purpose  of  good- 
will to  man,  the  law  of  Christ  spreads  out  its 
claims  very  far  beyond  the  circle  of  mere  pity  or 
natural  kindness,  and  in  absolute  and  peremptory 
terms  demands  for  the  use  of  the  poor,  the  igno- 
rant, the  wretched,  and  demands  from  every  one 
who  names  the  name  of  Christ,  the  whole  residue 
of  talent,  wealth,  time,  that  may  remain  after 
primary  claims  have  been  satisfied!  " 


Maple  Leaves.  243 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MAPLE  LEAVES. 

AN  incident  connected  with  Miss  Kelso's  ex- 
periments in  Five  Falls,  valuable  chiefly 
as  indicative  of  the  experimenter,  and  rather  as  a 
hint  than  as  history,  occurred  in  the  ripening 
autumn.  It  has  been  urged  upon  me  to  find 
place  for  it,  although  it  is  fragmentary  and 
incomplete. 

A  distant  sea-swell  of  a  strike  was  faintly 
audible  in  Hayle  and  Kelso. 

Hayle  and  Kelso  were  in  trouble.  Standfast 
Brothers,  of  Town,  solid  as  rock  and  old  as 
memory,  had  gone  down  ;  gone  as  suddenly  and 
blackly  as  Smashem  &  Co.  of  yesterday,  and 
gone  with  a  clutch  on  Five  Falls  cotton,  under 
which  Five  Falls  shook  dizzily. 

The  serene  face  of  the  senior  partner  took,  for 
the  first  time  since  1857,  an  anxious,  or,  it  might 
rather  be  called,  an  annoyed  groove.  All  the 


244  The  Silent  Partner. 

manufacturing  panics  of  the  war  had  fanned  it 
placidly,  but  Standfast  Brothers  were  down,  and 
behold,  the  earth  reeled  and  the  foundations 
thereof. 

Two  things,  therefore,  resulted.  The  progress 
of  the  new  mill  was  checked,  and  a  notice  of 
reduction  of  wages  went  to  the  hands. 

The  sea-swell  murmured. 

Hayle  and  Kelso  heard  nothing. 

The  sea-swell  growled. 

Hayle  and  Kelso  never  so  much  as  turned  the 
head. 

The  sea-swell  splashed  out  a  few  delegates  and 
a  request,  respectful  enough,  for  consultation  and 
compromise. 

"  We  will  shut  down  the  mills  first ! "  said 
young  Mr.  Hayle  between  his  teeth. 

So  the  swell  broke  with  a  roar  the  next  "  Lord's 
day." 

The  groove  grew  a  little  jagged  across  the 
Senior's  face.  A  strike,  it  is  well  known,  is  by  no 
means  necessarily  an  undesirable  thing.  Stock 
accumulates.  The  market  quickens.  You  keep 
your  finger  on  its  pulse.  You  repair  your  ma- 
chinery and  bide  your  time.  A  thousand  people, 


Maple  Leaves.  245 

living  from  hand  to  mouth,  may  be  under  your 
finger,  empty-handed.  What  so  easy  as  a  little 
stir  of  the  finger  now  and  then  ?  You  are  not 
hungry  meanwhile ;  your  daughter  has  her  win- 
ter clothes.  You  sit  and  file  handcuffs  playfully, 
against  that  day  when  your  "  hands  "  shall  have 
gone  hungry  long  enough.  No  more  striking 
presently  !  Meantime,  you  may  amuse  yourself. 

There  is  something  noteworthy  about  this 
term  "strike."  A  head  would  think  and  out- 
wit us.  A  heart  shall  beat  and  move  us.  The 
"  hands  "  can  only  struggle  and  strike  us,  —  fool- 
ishly too,  and  madly,  here  and  there,  and  des- 
perately, being  ill-trained  hands,  never  at  so  much 
as  a  boxing-school,  and  gashing  each  other  prin- 
cipally in  the  contest. 

There  had  been  strikes  in  Hayle  and  Kelso 
which  had  not  caused  a  ruffle  upon  the  Senior's 
gentlemanly,  smooth  brow  or  pleasant  smile  ;  but 
just  now  a  strike  was  unfortunate. 

"  Very  unfortunate,"  said  Mr.  Hayle  in  the 
counting-room  on  pay-day,  in  the  noise  of  the 
breaking  swell. 

The  Company  were  all  upon  the  ground,  silent 
and  disturbed  There  was  a  heavy  crowd  at  the 


246  The  Silent  Partner. 

gates,  and  the  sound  of  the  overseers'  voices  in 
altercation  with  them,  made  its  way  in  jerks  to 
the  counting-room. 

By  a  chance  Miss  Kelso  was  in  the  counting- 
room  ;  had  been  over  to  put  Mill's  "  Liberty  " 
into  the  library,  and  had  been  detained  by  the 
gathering  crowd. 

She  was  uneasy  like  the  rest ;  was  in  and  out, 
taking  her  own  measure  of  the  danger. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done,"  said  Mr.  Gar- 
rick,  anxiously,  the  last  time  that  she  came  into 
the  little  gloomy  room  where  they  were  sitting.  It 
was  beginning  to  rain,  and  the  windows,  through 
which  growing  spots  of  lowering  faces  could  be 
seen  darkening  the  streets,  were  spattered  and 
dirty.  "  There  is  nothing  to  do  about  it.  If 
they  will,  they  will.  Had  you  better  stay  here  ? 
.We  may  have  a  noisy  time  of  it." 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  do,"  said  the  young 
lady,  decidedly,  "  only  one.  I  wish,  Mr.  Garrick, 
that  you  had  never  shut  me  out  of  this  firm.  I 
belonged  here  !  You  do  not  one  of  you  know 
now  what  it  is  for  your  own  interest  to  do !  " 

Mr.  Hayle  signified,  smiling  across  his  groove 
of  anxiety,  that  she  was  at  liberty,  of  course,  to 


Maple  Leaves.  247 

offer  any  valuable  suggestion  with  which  she 
might  be  prepared  for  such  an  emergency. 

"  And  fold  my  hands  for  a  romantic  woman 
after  it.  However,  that  does  not  alter  the  fact ; 
there  is  just  one  thing  to  do  to  prevent  the  most 
serious  strike  known  in  Five  Falls  yet.  I  know 
those  men  better  than  you  do." 

"  We  know  them  well  enough,"  said  Maverick, 
with  a  polite  sneer.  "  This  is  a  specimen  of 
'  intelligent  labor,'  a  fair  one  !  These  fellows 
are  like  a  horse  blind  in  one  eye  ;  they  will  run 
against  a  barn  to  get  away  from  a  barrel.  Loose 
the  rein,  and  there  's  mischief  immediately.  You 
may  invite  them  to  supper  to  the  end  of  their 
days,  Miss  Kelso ;  but  when  you  are  in  a  genuine 
difficulty,  they  will  turn  against  you  just  as  they 
are  doing  now.  There  's  neither  gratitude  nor 
common  business  sense  among  them.  There  's 
neither  trust  nor  honor.  They  have  no  confi- 
dence in  their  employers,  and  no  foresight  for 
themselves.  They  would  ruin  us  altogether  for 
fifty  cents  a  week.  A  parcel  of  children  with  the 
blessed  addition  of  a  few  American  citizens  at 
their  head ! " 

"  I  was  about  to  propose,"  said  Perley,  quietly, 


248  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  that  their  employers  should  exhibit  some  trust 
or  confidence  in  them.  I  want  Mr.  Garrick  to 
go  out  and  tell  them  why  we  must  reduce  their 
wages." 

"Truly  a  young  lady's  suggestion,"  said  the 
Senior. 

"  It  is  none  of  their  business,"  said  Maverick, 
"  why  we  reduce  their  wages." 

Stephen  Garrick  said  nothing. 

"  Such  a  course  was  never  taken  in  the  com- 
pany," said  the  Senior. 

"  And  never  ought  to  be,"  said  the  Junior.  "  It 
is  an  unsuitable  position  for  an  employer  to  take, 
—  unsuitable  !  And  disastrous  as  a  precedent. 
Next  thing  we  know,  we  should  have  them  regu- 
lating the  salary  of  our  clerks  and  the  size  of 
our  invoices.  Outside  of  the  fancy  of  a  co- 
operative economist,  such  a  principle  would  be 
im What  a  noise  they  're  making  !  " 

"  Every  minute  is  precious,"  exclaimed  Perley, 
rising  nervously.  "  I  tell  you  I  know  those  men  ! 
They  will  trust  Mr.  Stephen  Garrick,  if  he  treats 
them  like  reasonable  beings  before  it  is  too 
late  ! " 

The  counting-room  door  slammed  there,  behind 


Maple  Leaves.  249 

a  messenger  from  the  clerk.  Things  looked  badly, 
he  said  ;  the  Spinners'  Union  had  evidently  been 
at  work  ;  there  were  a  few  brickbats  about,  and  rum 
enough  to  float  a  schooner  ;  and  an  ugly  kind  of 
setness  all  around  ;  we  were  in  for  it,  he  thought, 
now.  Were  there  any  orders  ? 

No,  no  orders. 

The  counting-room  door  slammed  again,  and 
the  noise  outside  dashed  against  the  sound  with 
a  little  spurt  of  defiance. 

"  It  would  be  a  most  uncommon  course  to 
take,"  said  the  Senior,  uneasily  ;  "  but  the  emer- 
gency is  great,  and  perhaps  if  Mr.  Garrick  felt 
inclined  to  undertake  such  an  extraordinary  —  " 

Miss  Kelso  overrated  his  chances  of  success, 
Mr.  Garrick  said,  but  she  did  not  overrate  the 
importance  of  somebody's  doing  something.  He 
was  willing  to  make  the  attempt. 

The  counting-room  door  slammed  once  more  ; 
the  spurt  died  down  ;  the  swell  reared  its  head, 
writhing  a  little  to  see  what  would  happen. 

Mr.  Garrick  took  his  hat  off.  and  stood  in  the 
door. 

It  was  an  ugly  crowd,  with  a  disheartening 
"  setness  "  about  it.  He  wished,  when  he  looked 
ii* 


250  The  Silent  Partner. 

it  over,  that  he  had  not  come  ;  but  stood  with 
his  hat  off,  smiling. 

He  was  smiling  still  when  he  came  back  to 
the  counting-room. 

"Well?  "asked  Perley. 

"  For  an  unpopular  master  —  " 

"  O  hush  !  "  said  Perley. 

"  For  an  unpopular  master,"  repeated  Mr.  Gar- 
rick,  "  I  did  as  well  as  I  expected.  In  fact,  just 
what  I  expected  all  the  time  has  happened. 
Listen  ! " 

He  held  the  door  open.  A  cry  came  in  front 
outside,  — 

"  Ask  the  young  leddy  /" 

"  You  see,  you  should  have  gone  in  the  first 
place,"  said  the  unpopular  master,  patiently. 
"  The  rest  of  us  are  good  for  little,  without  your 
indorsement." 

"  Call  the  young  leddy  !  Let 's  hear  what  the 
young  leddy  says  to  't !  The  young  leddy  !  The 
young  leddy  !  " 

The  demand  came  in  at  the  counting-room 
door  just  as  the  "  young  leddy  "  went  out. 

The  people  parted  for  her  right  and  left 
She  stood  in  the  mud,  in  the  rain,  among  them. 


Maple  Leaves.  251 

They  made  room  for  her,  just  as  the  dark  day 
would  have  made  room  for  a  sunbeam.  The 
drunkest  fellows,  some  of  them,  slunk  to  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  circle  that  had  closed  about 
her.  Oaths  and  brickbats  seemed  to  have  been 
sucked  out  to  sea  by  a  sudden  tide  of  respecta- 
bility. It  has  been  said  by  those  who  witnessed 
it  that  it  was  a  scene  worth  seeing. 

"  She  just  stood  in  the  mud  and  the  rain,"  said 
Sip  Garth,  in  telling  the  story.  "If  we'd  all 
been  in  her  fine  parlors,  we  would  n't  have  been 
stiller.  There  was  a  kind  of  a  shame  and  a  sense 
came  to  us,  to  see  her  standing  so  quiet  in  the 
rain.  The  fellow  that  opened  his  lips  for  a 
roughness  before  her  would  ha'  been  kicked  into 
the  gutter,  I  can  tell  you.  It  was  just  like  her. 
There 's  never  mud  nor  rain  amongst  us,  but  you 
look,  and  there  she  is !  That  day  there  seemed 
to  be  a  shining  to  her.  We  were  all  worked  up 
and  angered ;  and  she  stood  so  white  and  still. 
There  was  a  minute  that  she  looked  at  us,  and 
she  looked  —  why,  she  looked  as  if  she  'd  be  poor 
folks  herself,  if  only  she  could  say  how  sorry  she 
was  for  us.  Then  she  blazed  out  at  us  !  '  Did 
Mr.  Garrick  ever  tell  any  man  of  us  a  word  but 


252  The  Silent  Partner. 

honest  truth  ? '  she  wanted  to  know.  '  And  has 
n't  he  proved  himself  a  friend  to  every  soul  of 
you  that  needed  friendliness  ? '  says  she.  '  And 
when  he  told  you  that  he  must  reduce  your 
wages,  you  should  n't  have  sent  for  me ! '  says 
she.  But  then  she  talks  to  us  about  the  trouble 
that  the  Company  was  in,  and  a  foolishness 
creeps  round  amongst  us,  as  if  we  wished  we 
were  at  home.  It 's  not  that  they  so  much  dis- 
believed Mr.  Garrick,"  said  Sip,  "  but  when  she 
said  she  could  n't  afford  to  pay  'em,  they  believed 
that'' 

"  I  don't  understand  about  these  things,"  said 
Reuben  Mell,  slowly  stepping  out  from  the 
crowd.  "  It 's  very  perplexing  to  me.  It  does  n't 
mean  a  dollar's  worth  less  of  horses  and  carriages, 
and  grand  parties  to  the  Company,  such  a  trouble 
as  this  don't  seem  to.  And  it  means  as  we  go 
without  our  breakfast  so 's  the  children  sha'  n't  be 
hungry  ;  and  it  means  as  when  our  shoes  are  wore 
out,  we  know  no  more  than  a  babby  in  its  cradle 
where  the  next  pair  is  to  come  from.  That 's 
what  reduction  o'  wages  means  to  its.  I  don't 
understand  the  matter  myself,  but  I  'm  free  to 
say  that  we'll  not  doubt  as  the  young  leddy  does. 


Maple  Leaves.  253 

I  '11  take  the  young  leddy's  word  for  it,  this  time, 
for  one." 

Mr.  Mell,  with  this,  peaceably  stepped  up  and 
took  the  reduction  from  the  counter,  and  peaceably 
went  home  with  it. 

There  was  a  little  writhing  of  the  flood-tide  at 
this,  and  then  an  ebb. 

Miss  Kelso  came  out  of  it,  and  left  it  to  bub- 
ble by  itself  for  a  while. 

Within  half  an  hour  it  had  ebbed  away,  leav- 
ing only  a  few  weeds  of  small  boys  and  a  fellow 
too  drunk  to  float  in  sight  of  the  mill-gate. 

Until  at  least  next  "  Lord's  day,"  there  would 
be  no  strike  in  Hayle  and  Kelso. 

By  that  time  Mr.  Garrick  hoped  that  we 
should  be  upon  our  feet  .again. 

Mr.  Garrick  walked  home  with  Miss  Kelso  in 
the  autumn  rain. 

Unfortunately  for  the  weed  of  a  fellow  stranded 
in  the  mill-yard,  they  passed  and  recognized  him. 
It  was  the  overseer,  Irish  Jim.  Next  morning 
he  received  his  notice.  They  had  borne  with 
him  too  long,  and  warned  him  too  often,  Mr. 
Garrick  insisted.  Go  he  should,  and  go  he  did. 

But  Mr.  Garrick  walked  home  with  Miss  Kelso 
in  the  autumn  rain. 


254  The  Silent  Partner. 

They  passed  between  the  cotton-house  and 
the  old  boiler,  in  going  out.  Dirk  Burdock  had 
stepped  through  just  before  them,  trying  to  over- 
take Sip  in  the  distance,  hurrying  home.  Either 
this  circumstance  or  a  mood  of  the  mill-master's 
own  recalled  to  his  mind  his  midnight  talk  with 
the  young  watchman  on  that  spot,  and  what  Dirk 
had  said  of  its  being  a  "  churchly  place."  It  was 
a  dreary,  dingy  place  now,  in  the  gray  storm- 
light,  prosaic  and  extremely  rusty.  He  held  the 
lady's  cloak  back  from  the  boiler  in  passing  by. 

His  hand  had  but  brushed  the  hem  of  her 
garment,  but  it  trembled  visibly.  He  touched  a 
priestess  in  a  water-proof.  Fire  from  heaven  fell 
before  his  eyes  upon  the  yellow  boiler.  Such  a 
"  churchliness "  struck  the  mill-yard,  that  the 
man  would  have  lifted  his  hat,  but  considered 
that  he  would  take  cold,  and  so  kept  it  on  like  a 
sensible  fellow. 

Of  course  he  loved  her.  How  should  he  help 
it  ?  Anybody  but  Perley  would  have  thought 
of  it,  long  ago. 

Yet,  oddly  enough,  nobody  had  thought  of  it. 
Occasionally  one  meets  people,  though  they  are 
rather  apt  to  be  men  than  women,  who  seem  to 


Maple  Leaves.  255 

go  mailed  through  life  in  a  gossip-proof  armor. 
Perley  Kelso  is  one  of  them.  Rumor  winks  and 
blinks  and  shuts  its  eyes  upon  her.  Your  un- 
pleasant stories,  "  had  upon  authority,"  pass  her 
by  unscathed.  This  young  lady's  life  had  been  a 
peculiar,  rather  a  public  one,  for  now  nearly  two 
years,  and  in  its  most  vital  interests  Stephen 
Garrick  had  stood  heart  and  soul  and  hand  in 
hand  with  her.  Yet  her  calm  eyes  turned  upon 
him  that  autumn  afternoon  as  placidly  as  they 
did  upon  the  old  boiler.  When  she  saw  that 
tremble  of  the  hand,  she  said  :  "  You  are  cold  ? 
It  is  growing  chilly.  The  counting-room  was 
close." 

How  could  man  help  it  ?  Of  course  he  loved 
her.  He  had  seen  the  shining  of  her  rare,  fine 
face  in  such  strange  places  !  In  sick-rooms  and 
in  the  house  of  mourning  he  had  learned  to  listen 
for  the  stealing,  strong  sweetness  of  her  young 
voice.  They  had  met  by  death-beds  and  over 
graves.  They  had  burrowed  into  mysteries  of 
misery  and  sin,  in  God's  name,  together.  Wher- 
ever people  were  cold,  hungry,  friendless,  deso- 
late, in  danger,  in  despair,  she  struck  across  his 
path.  Wherever  there  was  a  soul  for  which  no 


256  The  Silent  Partner. 

man  cared,  he  found  her  footprints.  Wherever 
there  was  a  life  to  be  lifted  from  miasmas  to 
heights,  he  saw  the  waving  of  her  confident 
white  hand.  If  ever  there  were  earnest  work, 
solemn  work,  solitary  work,  mistrusted  work, 
work  misunderstood,  neglected,  discouraging, 
hopeless,  thankless,  —  Christ's  work,  to  be  done, 
he  faced  her. 

Now,  among  several  hundred  factory-opera- 
tives, it  naturally  happened  that  he  had  thus 
faced  her  not  infrequently. 

The  woman's  life  had  become  a  service  in  a 
temple,  and  he  had  lighted  the  candles  for  her. 
One  would  miss  it,  perhaps,  to  worship  in  the 
dark  ?  The  man  asked  himself  the  question,  turn- 
ing his  face  stiffly  against  the  autumn  storm. 

There  had  been  no  sun  since  yesterday.  The 
sky  was  locked  with  a  surcharged  cloud.  A  fine, 
swift  rain  blurred  Ihe  outlines  of  the  river-banks 
and  hills. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  the  day  seems  to  be  full 
of  sun.  Do  you  notice  ?  There  is  light  about  us 
everywhere." 

"  It  is  from  the  hickories  and  maples,"  said 
Perley. 


Maple  Leaves.  257 

Ripened  leaves  streaked  and  dotted  their  path, 
wreathed  blazing  arms  about  the  pine  groves, 
smouldered  over  the  fields,  flung  themselves 
scorched  into  the  water,  flared  across  the  dam, 
and  lighted  the  little  cascades  luridly.  The  sin- 
gular effect  of  dying  trees  on  a  dead  day  was  at 
its  richest.  One  could  not  believe  that  the  sun 
did  not  shine. 

"An  unreal  light,"  said  Stephen  Garrick,  hard- 
ly, "  and  ugly.  We  should  find  it  cold  to  live 
by." 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  said  Perley,  smil- 
ing ;  "  I  rather  like  it." 

Her  face,  as  she  lifted  it  to  his,  seemed  to  warm 
itself  at  its  own  calm  eyes  ;  slowly,  perhaps,  as  if 
the  truant  day  had  tried  to  leave  a  chill  upon  it, 
but  thoroughly  and  brightly. 

Garrick  turned,  and  looked  it  over  and  over 
and  through  and  through,  —  the  lifted  haunting 
face! 

What  a  face  it  was  !  His  own  turned  sharply 
gray. 

"  I  see  no  room  for  me  there ! "  he  said,  and 
stopped  short  where  he  stood. 

No  ;  he  was  right.  There  was  no  room.  The 

Q 


258  The  Silent  Partner. 

womanly,  calm  face  leaped  with  quick  color,  then 
drifted  pale  as  his  own. 

"  Let  us  walk  on,"  said  Garrick,  with  a  twang 
in  his  voice. 

They  walked  on  nervously.  Neither  spoke 
just  then.  They  walked  on,  under  and  through 
a  solid  arch  of  the  unreal  sunshine,  which  a  pha- 
lanx of  maples  made  in  meeting  over  their  heads. 

"  I  had  hoped,"  said  Stephen  Garrick  then, 
between  his  breath,  "  that  I  had  —  a  chance.  I 
have  been  —  stupid,  perhaps.  A  man  is  so  slow 
to  feel  that  he  has  —  no  chance.  I  have  not 
played  at  love  like  —  many  men.  There  has 
been  such  an  awfulness,"  said  Stephen  Garrick, 
passing  his  hand  confusedly  over  his  eyes,  — 
"  such  an  awfulness  about  the  ground  I  have 
seen  you  tread  upon.  Most  men  love  women  in 
parlors  and  on  play-days  ;  they  can  sing  them 
little  songs,  they  can  tie  up  flowers  for  them, 
they  can  dance  and  touch  their  hands.  I  —  1 
have  had  no  way  in  which  to  love  you.  We 
have  done  such  awful  work  together.  In  it, 
through  it,  by  it,  because  of  it,  I  loved  you.  I 
think  there  's  something — in  the  love—  that  is 
like  the  work.  It  has  struck  me  under  a  ledge 


Maple  Leaves.  259 

of  granite,  I  believe.  Miss  Kelso,  it  would  come 
up  —  hard." 

His  hand  dropped  against  his  side,  very  slowly, 
but  the  blue  nails  clenched  the  flesh  from  its 
palm. 

What  did  the  woman  mean  ?  What  should  he 
do  with  the  sight,  sound,  touch  of  her ;  the  rustle 
of  her  dress,  the  ripple  of  her  sweet  breath,  the 
impenetrable  calm  of  her  grieving  eyes  ? 

He  felt  himself  suddenly  lifted  and  swung  from 
the  centre  of  his  controlled,  common,  regula- 
ted, and  regulating  days.  Five  Falls  operatives 
ceased  to  appear  absorbing  as  objects  of  life. 
How  go  dribbling  ideal  Christian  culture  through 
highways  and  hedges,  if  a  man  sat  and  starved  on 
husks  himself,  before  the  loaded  board  ?  The 
salvation  of  the  world  troubled  him  yesterday. 
To-day  there  was  only  this  woman  in  it. 

They  two,  in  the  mock  light  of  dying  leaves, 
they  two  only  and  together,  stood,  the  Alpha  and 
Omega,  in  the  name  of  nature  and  in  the  sight 
of  God. 

"  I  have  loved  you,"  said  the  man,  trembling 
heavily,  "  so  long  !  My  life  has  not  been  like 
that  of — many  people.  I  have  taken  it  —  hard 


260  The  Silent  Partner. 

and  slowly.  I  have  loved  you  slowly,  and  — 
hard.  You  ought  to  love  me.  Before  God,  I 
say  you  ought  to  love  me  ! " 

"  The  fact  is  —  "  said  Perley,  in  her  sensible, 
every-day  voice. 

Stephen  Garrick  drew  breath  and  straightened 
himself.  His  blanched  face  quivered  and  set 
into  its  accustomed  angles.  His  shut  fingers 
opened,  and  he  cleared  his  throat.  He  struck  to 
his  orbit.  Ah !  Where  had  he  been  ?  Most 
too  old  a  man  for  that !  See  hew  he  had  let 
the  rain  drip  on  her.  He  grasped  his  umbrella. 
He  could  go  to  a  Mission  meeting  now.  All  the 
women  in  the  world  might  shake  their  beautiful 
heads  at  him  under  yellow  maple-trees  in  an 
autumn  rain  ! 

"  The  fact  is  ?  "  he  gravely  asked. 

"  The  fact  is,"  repeated  Perley,  "  that  I  have  no 
time  to  think  of  love  and  marriage,  Mr.  Garrick. 
That  is4a  business,  a  trade,  by  itself  to  women. 
I  have  too  much  else  to  do.  As  nearly  as  I  can 
understand  myself,  that  is  the  state  of  the  case. 
I  cannot  spare  the  time  for  it." 

And  yet,  as  nearly  as  she  understood  herself, 
she  might  have  loved  this  man.  The  dial  of  her 


Maple  Leaves.  261 

young  love  and  loss  cast  a  little  shadow  in  her 
sun  to-day.  She  felt  old  before  her  time.  All 
the  glamour  that  draws  men  and  women  together 
had  escaped  her  somehow.  Possible  wifehood 
was  no  longer  an  alluring  dream.  Only  its  pro- 
saic and  undesirable  aspects  presented  them- 
selves to  her  mind.  No  bounding  impulse  cried 
within  her  :  That  is  happiness  !  There  is  rest ! 
But  only  :  It  were  unreasonable  ;  it  is  unwise. 

And  yet  she  might  have  loved  the  man.  In 
all  the  world,  she  felt  as  if  he  only  came  within 
calling  distance  of  her  life.  Out  of  all  the  world, 
she  would  have  named  him  as  the  knightly  soul 
that  hers  delighted  to  honor. 

Might  have  loved  him  ?  Did  she  love  him  ? 
Garrick's  hungry  eyes  pierced  the  lifted  face 
again  over  and  over,  through  and  through.  If 
not  in  this  world,  in  another,  perhaps  ?  In  any  ? 
Somewhere  ?  Somehow  ? 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  woman,  as  if  she  had 
been  called  ;  "  I  do  not  need  you  now.  Women 
talk  of  loneliness.  I  am  not  lonely.  They  are 
sick  and  homeless.  I  am  neither.  They  are 
miserable.  I  am  happy.  They  grow  old.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  growing  old.  They  have  nothing 


262  The  Silent  Partner. 

to  do.  If  I  had  ten  lives,  I  could  fill  them !  No, 
I  do  not  need  you,  Stephen  Garrick." 

"  Besides,"  she  added,  half  smiling,  half  sigh- 
ing, "  I  believe  that  I  have  been  a  silent  partner 
long  enough.  If  I  married  you,  sir,  I  should  in- 
vest in  life,  and  you  would  conduct  it.  I  suspect 
that  I  have  a  preference  for  a  business  of  my 
own.  Perhaps  that  is  a  part  of  the  trouble." 

They  had  reached  the  house,  and  turned,  faces 
against  the  scattering  rain,  to  look  down  at  the 
darkening  river,  and  the  nestling  that  the  town 
made  against  the  hill.  The  streets  were  full ;  and 
the  people,  through  the  distance  and  the  rain, 
had  a  lean  look,  passing  to  and  fro  before  the 
dark,  locked  mills. 

Perley  Kelso,  with  a  curious,  slow  gesture, 
stretched  her  arms  out  toward  them,  with  a  face 
which  a  man  would  remember  to  his  dying  day. 

"  Shall  they  call,"  she  said,  "  and  I  not  answer  ? 
If  they  cried,  should  not  I  hear  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Garrick  !  "  She  faced  him  suddenly  on 
the  dripping  lawn.  "  If  a  man  who  loves  a 
woman  can  take  the  right  hand  of  fellowship 
from  her,  I  wish  you  would  take  it  from  me ! " 

She  held  out  her  full  strong  hand.     The  rain 


Maple  Leaves.  263 

dripped  on  it  from  an  elm-tree  overhead.  Stephen 
Garrick  gently  brushed  the  few  drops,  as  if  they 
had  been  tears,  away,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, took  it. 

If  not  in  this  world  in  another,  perhaps  ?  In 
any  ?  Somewhere  ?  Somehow  ? 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you,"  said  the  man.  Perhaps 
he  will.  A  few  souls  can. 


264  The  Silent  Partner. 


CHAPTER     XIII. 

A    FEVERISH    PATIENT. 

^  I  SHE  Pompeian  statues  in  Hayle  and  Kelso 
-*•  were  on  exhibition  in  a  cleared  and  bur- 
nished condition  for  nearly  a  week  last  spring. 

That  is  to  say,  Hayle  and  Kelso  were  off  work, 
for  high  water.  It  will  be  well  remembered  how 
serious  the  season's  freshets  were,  and  that  Five 
Falls  had  her  full  share  of  drenching. 

The  river  had  been  but  two  days  on  the  gallop 
before  the  operatives,  wandering  through  their 
holidays  in  their  best  clothes,  began  to  knot  into 
little  skeins  about  the  banks,  watching  the  leap 
that  the  current  made  over  the  dam. 

By  the  third  day  the  new  mill  was  considered 
in  danger,  and  diked  a  little. 

By  the  fourth  day  heavy  wagons  were  forbid- 
den the  county  bridge. 

The  skeins  upon  the  banks  interwound  and 
thickened.  Five  Falls  became  a  gallery.  Sun- 


A  Feverish  Patient.  265 

break  had  flung  back  the  curtain  from  a  picture 
which  hundreds  crept  up  on  tiptoe  to  see. 

Between  the  silent,  thronged  banks  and  the 
mute,  unclouded  sky,  the  river  writhed  like  a 
thing  that  was  tombed  alive.  The  spatter  of  the 
cascades  had  become  smooth  humps,  like  a 
camel's.  The  great  pulse  of  the  dam  beat  hor- 
ribly. The  river  ran  after  it,  plunged  at  it,  would 
run  full  and  forever.  It  looked  as  hopeless  as 
sin,  and  as  long  as  eternity.  You  gazed  and  de- 
spaired. There  was  always  more,  more,  more. 
There  was  no  chain  for  its  bounding.  There  was 
no  peace  to  its  cries.  No  sepulchre  could  stifle 
it,  no  death  still  it.  You  held  out  your  hands  and 
cried  for  mercy  to  it. 

Beautiful  whirlpools  of  green  light  licked  the 
base  of  the  stone  river-walls.  Flecks  of  foam 
were  picked  up  in  the  fields.  People  stood  for 
hours  in  the  spray,  clinging  to  the  iron  railings 
by  the  dam,  deafened  and  drenched,  to  watch  the 
sinuous  trail  of  the  under-tints  of  malachite  and 
gold  and  umber  that  swung  through.  As  one 
looked,  the  awful  oncoming  of  the  upper  waters 
ceased  to  be  a  terror,  ceased,  or  seemed  to  cease, 
to  be  a  fact.  Mightiness  of  motion  became  re- 


266  The  Silent  Partner. 

pose.  The  dam  lay  like  a  mass  of  veined  agate 
before  the  eyes,  as  solid  as  the  gates  of  the  city 
whose  builder  and  maker  is  God  ;  of  the  city  in 
which  sad  things  shall  become  joy,  dark  things 
light,  stained  things  pure,  old  things  new. 

The  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  fifth 
day.  Between  their  solemn  passing,  Sip  and 
Catty  sat  alone  in  the  little  damp,  stone  house. 

The  air  was  full  of  the  booming  of  the  flood, 
and  Catty  laid  her  head  upon  Sip's  knee,  listen- 
ing, as  if  she  heard  it.  The  wind  was  high  and 
blew  a  kind  of  froth  of  noise  in  gusts  against  the 
closed  windows  and  doors  ;  but  never  laid  finger's 
weight  upon  the  steady,  deadly  underflow  of  sound 
that  filled  the  night.  A  dark  night.  Sip,  going  to 
the  window,  from  whence  she  could  dimly  see  the 
sparks  of  alarm-lights  and  the  shadows'  of  watch- 
men on  the  endangered  bridge,  felt  a  little  dis- 
pleasure with  the  night.  It  was  noisy  and  con- 
fused her.  It  was  wild  and  disturbed  her.  The 
crowds  still  lingered  on  the  banks,  where  the 
green  whirlpools  had  grown  black,  and  where  the 
tints  of  malachite  and  gold  and  umber,  swinging 
on  their  bright  arms  through  the  dam,  had 
become  purple  and  gray  and  ghastliness,  and 


A  Feverish  Patient.  267 

wrapped  the  stone  piers  in  dark  files,  as  if  they 
had  been  mourners  at  a  mighty  funeral.  Cries 
of  excitement  or  fear  cut  the  regular  thud  of  the 
water,  now  and  then,  and  there  was  unwonted 
light  about  the  dikes  of  the  new  mill,  and  on  the 
railway  crossing,  which  had  been  loaded  with  the 
heaviest  freight  at  command,  in  anticipation  of 
the  possible  ruin  and  attack  of  the  upper  bridge. 

The  water  was  still  rising,  and  the  wind.  An 
undefined  report  had  risen  with  them,  through 
the  day,  of  runaway  lumber  up  the  stream.  Five 
Falls  was  awake  and  uneasy. 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  thought  Sip,  coming  back 
from  the  window.  "  It 's  a  kind  of  night  that  I 
can't  make  out.  Can  you,  Catty  ? " 

It  was  a  night  that  Catty  could  hear,  or  thought 
she  could,  and  this  pleased  her. 

"  It  is  like  wheels,"  she  said,  having  never 
heard  but  those  two  things,  the  machinery  in 
the  mills  and  this  thunder.  It  carried  her  round 
and  round,  she  signified,  making  circles  with  her 
fingers  in  the  air. 

She  got  up  presently  and  walked  with  the 
fancy  in  circles  about  the  little  kitchen.  It 
seemed  to  perplex  her  that  she  always  came  back 
to  her  starting-point. 


268  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  I  thought  I  was  going  to  get  out,"  she  said, 
stretching  out  her  arms. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Sip,  uneasily,  covering  her  eyes. 
Catty  looked  so  ugly  when  she  took  fancies  ! 
She  never  could  bear  them  ;  begged  her  to  come 
back  again  and  put  her  head  upon  her  knee. 

"  But  where  shall  I  stop  ? "  persisted  Catty.  "  I 
can't  go  round  and  go  round.  Who  will  stop  me, 
Sip  ? " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Sip.  "  There,  there  !  " 
All  the  stone  house  was  full  of  the  boom  of 
the  river.  The  two  girls  sat  down  again,  it 
seemed,  in  the  heart  of  it.  Sip  took  Catty's 
hands.  She  was  glad  to  have  her  at  home 
to-night.  She  kissed  her  finger-tips  and  her 
cropped,  coarse  hair. 

"  Last  night,"  said  Catty,  suddenly, "  I  stayed  at 
home." 

"  So  you  did,  dear." 

"  And  another  night,  besides/' 

"  Many  other  nights,"  said  Sip,  encouragingly. 

Did  that  make  Sip  happy  ?  Catty  asked. 

Very,  very  happy. 

For  love's  sake  ? 

For  love's  sake,  dear. 


A  Feverish  Patient.  269 

"  I  '11  stay  at  home  to-morrow  night,"  Catty 
nodded  sharply,  —  "I  '11  stay  at  home  to-morrow 
night,  for  love's  sake." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  Sip,  with  a  sense  of 
disturbance  or  alarm,  waked  suddenly.  The  little 
closet  bedroom  was  dark  and  close.  A  great 
shadow  in  the  kitchen  wrapped  her  pictured 
dreamer,  and  his  long,  unresting  dream.  It  was 
so  dark,  that  she  could  fairly  touch,  she  thought, 
the  solemn  sound  that  filled  the  house.  It  took 
waves  like  the  very  flood  itself.  If  she  put  her 
hand  out  over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  she  felt  an 
actual  chill  from  it.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing 
but  that  noise  in  all  the  world. 

Except  Catty,  sitting  up  straight  in  bed,  awake 
and  talkative. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Sip,  sitting  up  too. 

In  the  dead  dark,  Catty  put  out  her  hands.  In 
the  dead  dark  Sip  answered  them. 

"  Sip,"  said  Catty,  "  who  was  it  ?  " 

"  Who  was  what,  dear  ? " 

"  Who  was  it  that  made  this  ?  "  touching  her 
ears. 

"  Him  that  made  this  awful  noise,"  said  Sip. 

"  And  this  ? "  brushing  her  eyes. 


270  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  Him  that  made  this  awful  dark,"  said  Sip. 

"  And  this  ?  "  She  put  her  fingers  to  her  mute, 
rough  lips. 

"  Him  that  learned  the  wind  to  cry  at  nights," 
said  Sip. 

"  Did  he  do  it  for  love's  sake  ? "  asked  Catty. 
"  I  can't  find  out.  Did  he  do  it  for  love's  sake, 
Sip?" 

"  For  —  love's  —  sake  ? "  said  Sip,  slowly.  "  I 
suppose  he  did.  I  pray  to  Heaven  that  he  did 
When  I  'm  on  my  knees,  I  know  he  did." 

"  If  it  was  for  love's  sake,"  said  Catty,  "  I  '11 
go  to  sleep  again." 

So  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  fifth 
day  of  the  great  freshets  at  Five  Falls. 

Catty  woke  early  and  helped  Sip  to  get  break- 
fast. She  was  very  happy,  though  the  coffee 
burned,  and  laughed  discordantly  when  Sip  made 
griddle-cakes  for  her  of  the  Indian  meal.  Sip 
could  not  eat  her  own  griddle-cakes  for  pleasure 
at  this.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with 
her  hands  behind  her,  kissing  Catty's  finger-tips 
and  her  ragged  hair. 

The  Pompeian  statues  came  to  the  face  of  the 
day  ;  the  crowds  upon  the  river-brinks  formed 


A.   Feverish  Patient.  271 

again,  thickened,  doubled  ;  the  bright-armed  mal- 
achite and  umber  leaped  again  dizzily  down  the 
dams. 

Still  the  pulse  of  the  river  rose.  The  county 
bridge  shrunk  and  shivered  in  fits  to  it.  The 
river  had  the  appearance  of  having  an  attack  of 
fever  and  ague. 

The  timber  alarm,  in  the  wearing  on  of  the 
day,  waxed  and  grew. 

Five  thousand  feet  of  timber,  in  the  upper 
floods,  had  broken  loose,  and  were  on  their  way 
down  stream. 

Ten  thousand  feet. 

Twenty. 

Five  hundred  thousand. 

A  million  feet  of  logs,  in  the  upper  floods,  had 
broken  their  chains,  and  would  be  at  Five  Falls 
before  night. 

Catty  was  sitting  alone  in  the  stone  house,  in 
the  slope  of  the  afternoon.  She  had  been  out 
with  Sip,  half  the  day,  "  to  see  the  flood  "  ;  lifting 
her  listening  face  against  the  spray,  with  pathetic 
pleasure  ;  holding  out  her  hands  sometimes,  they 
said,  as  if  to  measure  the  sweep  of  the  sounding 
water ;  nodding  to  herself  about  it,  with  her  dull 
laugh. 


272  The  Silent  Partner. 

Sip  would  be  back  at  dusk.  Catty  had  prom- 
ised, coming  home  a  little  tired,  to  sit  still  and 
wait  for  her  ;  would  not  venture  out  again  among 
the  crowd  ;  would  go  to  sleep  perhaps  ;  would  be 
a  good  girl,  at  any  rate  ;  stroked  Sip's  face  a  little 
as  she  went  away.  Sip  kissed  her,  and,  when  she 
had  shut  the  door,  came  back  and  kissed  her 
again.  A  little  shopping  up  town,  and  an  errand 
at  Miss  Kelso's,  and  perhaps  another  look  at  the 
•dood,  would  not  delay  her  very  long  ;  and  Catty 
had  kept  her  promises  lately.  Sip  bade  her  good 
by  with  a  light  heart,  and  shut  the  door  again. 

Catty  sat  still  for  a  while  after  the  door  was 
shut.  Then  she  slept  awhile.  Afterwards  she 
sat  still  for  a  while  again.  She  got  up  and 
walked  about  the  kitchen.  She  sat  down  on  the 
kitchen  floor.  She  nodded  and  talked  to  herself. 
Sip  might  have  been  gone  an  hour  ;  she  might  have 
been  gone  a  week  ;  Catty  did  not  feel  sure  which  ; 
she  lost  her  hold  bf  time  when  she  sat  alone  ;  she ' 
put  her  fingers  down  on  the  floor  and  counted 
them,  guessing  at  how  long  Sip  had  been  away. 

Her  fingers,  when  she  put  them  on  the  floor, 
splashed  into  something  cold. 

Had  the  water-pail  tipped  over  ?     If  it  had,  it 


A  Feverish  Patient.  273 

must  have  been  very  full.  Catty  discovered  that 
she  was  sitting  in  a  puddle  of  water ;  that 
water  gurgled  over  her  feet ;  that  water  rippled 
about  the  legs  of  the  stove ;  that  a  gentle  bub- 
ble of  water  filled  the  room. 

She  crawled,  dripping,  up,  and  made  her  way 
to  the  door.  As  she  opened  it,  she  let  in  a  swash 
about  her  ankles. 

She  spattered  across  the  entry  to  find  the  Irish 
woman  who  rented  the  other  tenement  ;  she  had 
gone,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  to  see  the  flood, 
it  seemed  ;  Catty  received  no  answer  to  her  un- 
couth calls  ;  she  was  alone  in  the  house. 

This  disturbed  her.  She  felt  puzzled  about 
the  water  ;  alarmed,  because  she  could  neither  see 
nor  hear  the  reason  of  it ;  annoyed  at  the  cold 
crawling  that  it  made  about  her  ankles,  and 
anxious  for  Sip  to  come  and  explain  it. 

She  went  to  the  front  door  and  opened  that. 
A  rush,  like  a  tiny  tide,  met  her.  She  stooped 
and  put  her  hand  out,  over  the  step.  It  dipped 
into  a  pool  of  rising  water. 

Catty  shrank  back  and  shut  the  door.  The 
noise  like  wheels  was  plain  to  her.  It  waited  for 
her  outside  of  that  door.  It  struck  like  claws 


274  The  Silent  Partner. 

upon  her  locked  ears.  It  frightened  her.  She 
would  not  for  the  world  open  the  door  to  it.  She 
drew  the  bolt  hard,  in  a  childish  fright,  and  sat 
down  again  in  the  slow  gurgle  on  the  kitchen 
floor. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  go 
and  find  Sip.  But  Sip  would  not  be  in  the  noise. 
Where  would  she  be  ? 

Catty  pushed  herself  along  on  the  floor,  push- 
ing out  of  the  way  of  the  water  as  she  reflected. 
That  was  how  another  thing  occurred  to  her. 

The  farther  that  she  pushed  herself  the  thinner 
the  gurgle  grew.  In  the  closet  bedroom  it  was 
scarcely  wet. 

At  this  side  of  the  house  she  lost,  or  thought 
she  lost,  the  noise.  It  must  be  at  this  side  of  the 
house  that  she  should  find  Sip.  Sip  had  often 
lost  her  out  of  the  closet  bedroom.  She  remem- 
bered, with  a  laugh,  how  many  times  she  had 
climbed  out  of  that  little  cupboard  window  after 
Sip  was  asleep.  She  felt  her  way  to  it  eagerly. 
It  was  shut  and  buttoned.  She  pushed  it,  slam- 
ming, back,  climbed  to  the  high  sill,  and  let  her- 
self drop. 

Catty  might  have  remained  in  the  closet  bed- 


A  Feverish  Patient. 


275 


room,  had  she  but  known  it,  high  and  dry.  The 
stone  house  received  a  thorough  soaking,  but  not 
a  dangerous  one.  The  water  sucked  in  for  a 
while  at  the  locked  front  door,  played  drearily 
about  the  empty  kitchen,  mopped  the  entry  floor, 
set  the  Irish  woman's  bread-pan  and  coal-hod 
afloat,  and  dawdled  away  again  down  the  steps ; 
the  result,  it  seemed,  of  a  savage  and  transient 
shiver  on  the  part  of  that  fitful  invalid,  the  river. 

The  county  bridge,  in  fact,  was  as  good  as 
gone.  The  transient  shiver  in  the  lower  floods 
had  been  caused  by  the  sinking  of  a  pier. 

It  had  been  a  fine  sight.  Masses  of  men,  women, 
and  children  hung,  chained  like  galley-slaves,  to 
either  bank,  intent  and  expectant  on  it.  Foot 
and  horse  forsook  the  bridge.  Police  guarded  it. 

A  red  sunset  sprang  up  and  stared  at  it.  An 
avalanche  of  dead-white  spray  chewed  the  mala- 
chite and  umber.  Curious,  lurid  colors  bounded 
up  where  they  sank,  and  bruised  and  beat  them- 
selves against  the  fallen  and  the  falling  piers. 

The  gorgeous  peril  of  the  tinted  water,  and  the 
gorgeous  safety  of  the  tinted  sky,  struck  against 
each  other  fancifully.  There  seemed  a  rescue  in 
the  one  for  the  ruin  of  the  other  One  was  sure 


276  The  Silent  Partner. 

that  the  drowned  colors  held  up  their  arms  again, 
secure,  inviolate,  kindled,  living,  in  the  great 
.resurrection  of  the  watching  heavens. 

It  must  have  been  not  far  from  the  moment 
when  Catty  dropped  from  the  cupboard  window, 
that,  on  the  beautiful  madness  of  the  river,  up 
where  the  baby  souls  of  the  cascades  had  trans- 
migrated into  camels,  a  long,  low,  brown  streak 
appeared. 

It  appeared  at  first  sight  to  lie  quite  still.  At 
second  sight,  it  undulated  heavily,  like  a  huge 
boa.  At  the  jithird,  it  coiled  and  plunged. 

"  The  logs  !     The  logs  !     The  logs  are  here  !  " 

The  cry  ran  round  the  banks.  Maverick  Hayle 
sat  down  on  a  stone  and  looked  at  his  new  mill 
stupidly.  Passers  cleared  the  railway  crossing. 
People  ran  about  and  shouted.  They  climbed 
rocks  and  trees  to  look.  The  guards  on  the 
bridge  disappeared.  The  smooth  outlines  of  the 
boa  grew  jagged.  The  timber  leaped  and  tan- 
gled in  sweeping  down.  All  through  its  wounded 
arches,  the  heavy  bridge  creaked  and  cried. 

The  people  on  the  banks  cried  too,  from  sheer 
excitement. 

"  The  logs,  the  logs,  the  logs  !     The  bridge  !  " 


A  Feverish  Patient.  277 

"  Look  on  the  bridge  !  Look  there  !  Good 
God  !  How  did  she  get  there  ?  On  the  bridge  ! 
Woman  on  the  bridge  !  " 

Past  the  frightened  guards,  past  the  occupied 
eyes  of  a  thousand  people,  on  the  bridge,  over 
the  bridge,  not  twelve  feet  from  the  sunken  piers, 
stood  a  girl  with  low  forehead,  and  dropping  lip, 
and  long,  outstretching  hands. 

"  Catty  !  Catty !     O  Catty,  Catty,  Catty  !  " 

The  uncouth  name  rang  with  a  terrible  cry. 
It  cleft  the  crowd  like  a  knife.  They  parted  be- 
fore it,  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  letting  a 
ghastly  girl  plunge  through. 

"  O  Catty,  Catty,  Catty !  For  love's  sake, 
stop  !  For  dear  love's  sake  !  " 

It  was  too  late  for  dear  love  to  touch  her.  Its 
piteous  call  she  could  not  hear.  Its  wrung  face 
she  could  not  see.  Her  poor,  puzzled  lips  moved 
as  if  to  argue  with  it-,  but  made  no  sound. 

Type  of  the  world  from  which  she  sprang,  — 
the  world  of  exhausted  and  corrupted  body,  of 
exhausted  and  corrupted  brain,  of  exhausted  and 
corrupted  soul,  the  world  of  the  laboring  poor  as 
man  has  made  it,  and  as  Christ  has  died  for  it, 
of  a  world  deaf,  dumb,  blind,  doomed,  stepping 


278  The  Silent  Partner. 

confidently  to  its  own  destruction  before  our  eyes, 
—  Catty  stood  for  a  moment  still,  a  little  per- 
plexed, it  seemed,  feeling  about  her  patiently  in 
the  spray-sown,  lighted  air. 

One  beck  of  a  human  hand  would  save  her  ; 
but  she  could  not  see  it.  One  cry  would  turn 
her  ;  but  her  ears  were  sealed. 

Still,  in  the  great  dream-  of  dying,  as  in  the 
long  dream  of  life,  this  miserable  creature  listened 
for  what  she  never  heard,  and  spoke  that  which 
no  man  understood. 

"  She  's  making  signs  to  me,"  groaned  Sip ; 
"  she  's  making  signs  to  call  my  name  !  " 

Then  Perley  Kelso  put  both  arms  about  her. 
Then  the  solid  shore  staggered  suddenly.  Then 
a  ragged  shadow  loomed  across  the  dam.  Then 
there  was  a  shock,  and  thunder. 

Then  some  one  covered  her  eyes,  close. 

When  she  opened  them,  timber  was  tearing  by. 
Spray  was  in  her  face.  Dirk  was  beside  her  on 
his  knees,  and  men  had  their  hats  off. 

On  the  empty  ruin  of  the  sliced  bridge,  two 
logs  had  caught  and  hung,  black  against  the  color 
of  the  water  and  the  color  of  the  sky.  They 
had  caught  transversely,  and  hung  like  a  cross. 


Swept  and  Garnished.  279 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SWEPT    AND     GARNISHED. 

T~T  was  Dirk  who  had  covered  Sip's  eyes  when 
-*-  the  timber  struck  the  bridge. 

She  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  time,  but  remem- 
bered it  afterwards. 

She  remembered  it  when  he  came  that  evening 
to  the  door  of  the  lonely,  sodden  house,  after  Miss 
Kelso  had  gone,  asking  how  she  was,  but  refus- 
ing to  enter  lest,  he  said,  he  should  be  "  one  too 
many."  She  liked  that.  They  did  not  want  him 
—  she  and  Catty  —  that  night.  This  thing,  in 
the  solitude  of  the  dripping  house,  had  surprised 
her.  God  in  heaven  did  not  seem  to  have  sep- 
arated her  and  Catty,  after  all.  The  silence  of 
death  was  spared  her.  Catty's  living  love  had 
made  no  sound  ;  her  dead  love  made  none 
either.  A  singular  comfort  came  to  Sip,  almost 
with  the  striking  of  her  sorrow.  She  and  Catty 
could  not  be  parted  like  two  speaking  people. 


280  The  Silent  Partner. 

Passed  into  the  great  world  of  signs,  the  deaf-mute, 
dead,  grew  grandly  eloquent.  The  ring  of  the 
flood  was  her  solemn  kiss.  The  sunshine  on  the 
kitchen  floor  to-morrow  would  be  her  dear  good- 
morning.  Clouds  and  shadows  and  springing 
green  gave  her  speech  forever.  The  winds  of 
long  nights  were  language  for  her.  Ah,  the 
ways,  the  ways  which  Catty  could  find  to  speak 
to  her! 

Sip  walked  about  the  room  with  dry,  burning 
eyes.  She  could  not  cry.  She  felt  exultant, 
excited.  The  thing  which  she  greatly  feared  had 
come  upon  her.  The  worst  that  ever  could  hurt 
her  and  Catty  was  over.  And  now  how  privi- 
leged and  rich  she  was  !  What  ways  !  How 
many  ways  !  Only  she  and  Catty  knew.  How 
•jlad  she  was  now  that  Catty  had  never  talked 
like  other  people ! 

This  curious  mood  —  if  it  should  be  called  a 
mood  —  lasted,  evenly,  till  the  poor,  disfigured 
heap  found  one  day  in  the  ebbing  of  the  flood 
flung  upright  against  a  rock,  a  mile  below  the 
dam,  with  its  long  hands  outstretched,  spelling 
awful  dumb  words,  had  Vr?en  brought  to  the 
stone  house  and  carried  away  again,  and  left 


Swept  and  Garnished.  281 

until  the  day  when  the  lips  of  the  dumb  shall 
be  unsealed,  to  spell  its  untranslated  message 
through  a  tangle  of  myrtle  into  the  smoky  fac' 
tory  air. 

After  that  she  shrank  suddenly,  like  a  waked 
somnambulist,  and  went  sick  to  bed. 

One  day  she  got  up  and  went  to  work  again. 

That  was  the  day  that  Dirk  Burdock  had 
watched  for,  had  grown  impatient  about,  seized 
impetuously  when  it  came. 

It  had  been  a  pleasant  day,  with  a  grave  sun- 
light and  a  quiet  sky.  Sip  took  a  grave  and 
pleasant  face  out  into  it.  She  wore  a  grave  and 
pleasant  smile  when  the  young  watchman's  eager 
step  overtook  her,  where  the  rusty  boiler  (made 
rustier  than  ever  by  the  flood,  and  since  re- 
moved) had  stood  beside  the  cotton-house. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  out  again,  Sip,"  said 
the  young  man,  awkwardly,  striding  out  of  step 
with  her,  and  falling  back  with  a  jerk. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sip,  "  it  is  quite  time  I  should  be 
at  work  again." 

"  It  's  a  pleasant  day,"  said  Dirk. 

"A  very  pleasant  day,"  said  Sip. 

"  Been  to   see  the   new   mill    since    the    re- 


282  The  Silent  Partner. 

pairs  ? ".  asked  Dirk,  as  if  struck  by  a  bright 
thought.  Now  Dirk  had  vowed  within  himself, 
that,  whatever  else  he  said  to  Sip,  he  would  say 
nothing  about  the  flood.  He  had  an  idea  that  it 
might  make  her  cry.  He  had  another,  that  it  was 
about  time  for  her  to  forget  it.  He  had  another 
still,  somewhat  to  the  effect  that  he  was  the  man 
to  make  her  forget.  In  the  face  of  these  three 
ideas,  Dirk  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  out  for 
his  question.  However,  Sip  did  not  cry,  neither 
did  she  seem  to  have  forgotten  the  flood,  neither 
did  she  seem  anxious  to  forget  it  or  avoid  it. 

She  said,  Yes,  smiling,  that  she  had  walked  by 
on  her  way  to  work  this  morning.  There  must 
have  been  a  good  deal  of  damage  done  ? 

"  A  sight,"  said  Dirk,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  They  say  ihe  young  man  lost  the  most  out  o' 
that  affair." 

"Young  Hayle?" 

"  Yes  ;  though  they  was  all  involved,  I  sup- 
pose, for  that  matter,  —  her  among  'em.  But  she 
never  bothered  her  head  about  it  at  the  time 
o'  't.  She  was  all  taken  up  with  —  " 

"  I  know,"  Sip  ran  on,  gently,  when  poor  Dirk 
stuck  in  despair.  "  I  do  not  think  she  ihougJit  of 


Swept  and  Garnished.  283 

anything  else  but  Catty  and  me.  It  was  like  her, 
—  like  her." 

"  She  must  have  lost,"  said  Dirk,  reviving 
again  ;  "  I  thought  the  fall  lectures  would  be 
broke  off,  but  it  seems  they  ain't." 

Sip  said  nothing  ;  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
talk,  and  the  two  young  people  turned  a  couple 
of  corners  on  the  way  to  the  stone  house  in 
thoughtful  silence.  They  were  almost  too  young 
to  be  so  thoughtful  and  so  silent ;  more  especially, 
the  young  man,  growing  nervous,  and  taking 
furtive,  anxious  glances  at  the  girl's  face. 

It  was  an  inscrutable  face. 

Sip  had  shut  her  lips  close  ;  she  looked  straight 
ahead  ;  the  brown,  dull  tints  of  her  cheeks  and 
temples  came  out  like  a  curtain,  and  folded  all 
young  colors  and  flushes  and  tremors,  all  hope 
and  fear,  all  longing  or  purpose,  need  or  fulness 
in  her,  out  of  sight.  She  only  looked  straight  on 
and  waited  for  Dirk  to  speak. 

She  quite  knew  that  and  what  he  would  speak. 
When  he  began,  presently,  with  a  quivering  face, 
"  Well,  Sip,  I  don't  see  that  I  'm  getting  on 
any  in  the  mills,  after  all,"  she  was  neither 
surprised  nor  off  her  guard.  She  was  not  yet 


284  The  Silent  Partner. 

twenty-three,  but  she  was  too  old  to  be  put  off  her 
guard  by  a  young  man  with  a  quivering  face.  If 
she  had  a  thing  to  do,  she  meant  to  do  it  ;  put 
her  hands  together  in  that  way  she  had,  bent  at 
the  knuckles,  resolutely. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  no  ;  you  '11  never  get  any 
farther,  Dirk." 

"  But  I  meant  to,"  said  Dirk,  hotly.  "  I  thought 
I  should !  Mebbe  you  think  it 's  me  that 's  the 
trouble,  not  the  getting  on  !  " 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  trouble  about  you,"  said 
Sip,  honestly  ;  "  I  don't  know  ;  and  I  don't  much 
care  whether  there  is  or  not.  But  I  think  most  of 
the  trouble  is  in  the  getting  on.  Mills  ain't  made 
to  get  on  in.  It  ain't  easy,  I  know,  Dirk.  It 
ain't  It 's  the  staying  put  of  'em,  that 's  the 
worst  of 'ern.  Dorit  I  know?  It's  the  staying 
put  that 's  the  matter  with  most  o'  folks  in  the 
world,  it  seems  to  me.  For  we  are  the  most  o' 
folks,  —  us  that  stay  put,  you  know." 

"  Are  we  ? "  said  Dirk,  a  little  puzzled  by  Sip's 
social  speculations.  "  But  I  'm  getting  steady 
pay  now,  Sip,  at  any  rate  ;  and  I  've  a  steady 
chance.  Garrick  's  a  friend  o'  mine,  I  believe, 
and  has  showed  himself  friendly.  He  '11  keep  me 


Swept  and  Garnished.  285 

the  watch,  at  least,  —  Mr.  Garrick.  I  might  be 
worse  off  than  on  watch,  Sip." 

"  O  yes,"  said  Sip  ;  "  you  've  got  a  good  place, 
Dirk." 

"  With  a  chance,"  repeated  Dirk. 

"  With  a  chance  ?     Maybe,"  answered  Sip. 

"  And  now,"  said  Dirk,  trembling  suddenly, 
"  what  with  the  place  and  the  chance  —  maybe, 
and  the  pay  and  the  steadiness,  sure,  I  've  been 
thinking,  Sip,  as  the  time  had  come  to  ask 
you  —  " 

"  Don't  !  "  said  Sip. 

All  young  colors  and  flushes  and  tremors, 
hopes  and  fears,  longing  and  need,  broke  now 
out  of  the  brown  curtain  of  Sip's  face.  In  the 
instant  she  was  a  very  lonely,  very  miserable 
little  girl,  not  by  any  means  over  twenty-three, 
and  the  young  man  had  eyes  so  cruelly  kind ! 
But  she  said  :  "  Don't,  Dirk  !  O  please,  don't ! " 

"Well!"  said  Dirk.  He  stopped  and  drew 
breath  as  if  she  had  shot  him. 

They  had  come  to  the  stone  house  now,  and 
Sip  began  walking  back  and  forth  in  front  of  it. 

"  But  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife ! " 
said  Dirk.  "  It 's  so  lonir  that  I  have  n't  dared 


286  T/ie  Silent  Partner. 

to  ask  you,  and  now  jou  say  don't !  Don  t  ?  But 
I  will  ;  I  '11  ask  at  any  rate.  Sip,  will  you  marry 
me  ?  There  !  I  should  choke  if  I  did  n't  ask. 
You  may  say  what  you  please." 

"  I  cant  say  what  I  please,"  said  Sip,  in  a  low 
voice,  walking  faster. 

"  I  don't  know  what 's  to  hinder,"  said  Dirk, 
in  an  injured  tone  ;  "  I  always  knew  I  was  n't 
half  fit  for  you,  and  I  always  knew  you  'd  ought 
to  have  a  man  that  could  get  on.  But  consider- 
ing the  steadiness  and  the  chance,  .and  that  I  — 
I  set  such  a  sight  by  you,  Sip,  and  sometimes 
I  Ve  thought  you  —  liked  me  well  enough,"  con- 
cluded Dirk,  candidly. 

"  I  like  you,  Dirk,"  said  Sip,  slowly,  "  well 
enough." 

"  Well  enough  to  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Well  enough  to  be  your  wife." 

"  Then  I  should  n't  think,"  observed  Dirk,  sim- 
ply, and  with  a  brightening  face,  "that  you'd 
find  it  very  hard  saying  what  you  please." 

"  Maybe  I  should  n't,"  said  Sip,  "  if  I  could  be 
your  wife  ;  but  I  can't." 

Her  bent  hands  fell  apart  weakly  ;  she  did  not 
look  at  Dirk  ;  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  a  little  clump 


Swept  and  Garnished.  287 

of  dock-weed  at  her  feet,  beside  the  fence  ;  she 
looked  sick  and  faint. 

"  I  '11  not  marry  you,"  said  the  girl  feebly  ;  "  I  '11 
not  marry  anybody.  Maybe  it  is  n't  the  way  a 
girl  had  ought  to  feel  when  she  likes  a  young  fel- 
low," added  Sip,  with  a  kind  of  patient  aged  bit- 
terness crawling  into  her  eyes.  "  But  we  don't 
live  down  here  so  's  to  make  girls  grow  up  like 
girls  should,  it  seems  to  me.  Things  as  would 
n't  trouble  rich  folks  troubles  us.  There 's  things 
that  troubles  me.  I  '11  never  marry  anybody, 
Dirk.  I  '11  never  bring  a  child  into  the  world  to 
work  in  the  mills  ;  and  if  I  'd  ought  not  to  say  it, 
I  can't  help  it,  for  it 's  the  truth,  and  the  reason, 
and  I  Ve  said  it  to  God  on  my  knees  a  many  and 
a  many  times.  I  Ve  said  it  before  Catty  died,  and 
I  Ve  said  it  more  than  ever  since,  and  I  '11  say 
it  till  I  die.  I  '11  never  bring  children  into  this 
world  to  be  factory  children,  and  to  be  factory 
boys  and  girls,  and  to  be  factory  men  and  women, 
and  to  see  the  sights  I  Ve  seen,  and  to  bear  the 
things  I  Ve  borne,  and  to  run  the  risks  I  Ve  run, 
and  to  grow  up  as  I  Ve  grown  up,  and  to  stop 
where  I  Ve  stopped,  —  never.  I  Vc  heard  tell 
of  slaves  before  the  war  that  would  n't  be  fathers 


288  The  Silent  Partner. 

and  mothers  of  children  to  be  slaves  like  them. 
That 's  the  way  I  feel,  and  that  'sthe  way  I  mean 
to  feel.  I  won't  be  the  mother  of  a  child  to  go 
and  live  my  life  over  again.  I  '11  never  marry 
anybody." 

"  But  they  need  n't  be  factory  people,"  urged 
Dirk,  with  a  mystified  face.  "  There  's  trades  and 
—  other  things." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  Sip  shook  her  head,  —  "I 
know  all  about  that.  They  'd  never  get  out  of 
the  mills.  It 's  from  generation  to  generation.  It 
could  n't  be  helped.  I  know.  It 's  in  the  blood." 

"  But  other  folks  don't  take  it  so,"  urged  Dirk, 
after  a  disconsolate  pause.  "  Other  folks  marry, 
and  have  their  homes  and  the  comfort  of  'em. 
Other  folks,  if  they  love  a  man,  '11  be  his  wife 
someways  or  nuther." 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Sip,  "  I  seem  to  think  that 
that  I  'm  not  other  folks.  Things  come  to  me 
someways  that  other  folks  don't  understand  nor 
care  for."  She  crushed  the  dock-weed  to  a 
wounded  mass,  and  dug  her  foot  into  the  ground, 
and  stamped  upon  it. 

"  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind,  Dirk.  It 's  no  use 
talking.  It —  it  hurts  me,"  with  a  tender  motion  of 


Swept  and  Garnished.  289 

the  restless  foot  against  the  bruised,  rough  leaves 
of  the  weed  which  she  was  covering  up  with  sand. 
"  I  'd  rather  not  talk  any  more,  Dirk.  There 's 
other  girls.  Some  other  girl  will  do." 
,  "I  '11  have  no  other  girl  if  I  can't  have  you!" 
said  poor  Dirk,  turning  away.  "  I  never  could 
set  such  a  sight  by  another  girl  as  I  've  set  by 
you.  If  you  don't  marry,  Sip,  no  more  '11  I." 

Sip  smiled,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  won't !  "  cried  Dirk.  "  You 
think  I  'm  one  of  other  folks,  I  guess.  You  wait 
and  see.  I  've  loved  you  true.  If  ever  man 
loved  a  girl,  I  've  loved  you  true.  If  I  can't 
have  you,  I  '11  have  nobody ! " 

But  Sip  only  smiled. 

She  went  into  the  house  after  Dirk  had  gone, 
weakly.  The  flushing  tremors  in  her  face  had 
set  into  a  dead  color,  and  her  hands  came  to- 
gether again  at  the  knuckles. 

The  Irish  woman  was  away,  and  the  house  was 
lonely  and  still.  The  kitchen  fire  was  out.  She 
went  out  into  the  little  shed  for  kindlings,  think- 
ing that  she  would  make  a  cup  of  tea  directly, 
she  felt  so  weak. 

When   she  got  there,  she   sat   down   on   the 
13  s 


290  The  Silent  Partner. 

chopping-block,  and  covered  her  face,  her  feet 
hanging  listlessly  against  the  axe.  She  wished 
that  she  need  never  lift  her  head  nor  look  about 
again.  She  wished  that  when  the  Irish  woman 
came  home  she  should  just  step  into  the  little 
shed  and  find  her  dead.  What  a  close  little 
warm  sheltered  shed  it  was  !  All  the  world  out- 
side of  it  seemed  emptied,  swept,  and  garnished. 
She  felt  as  if  her  life  had  just  been  through  a 
"  house-cleaning."  It  was  clean  and  washed,  and 
proper  and  right,  and  as  it  should  be,  and  drearily 
in  order  forever.  Now  it  was  time  to  sit  down  in  it. 

Sip  had  what  Mr.  Mill  calls  a  "large  share  of 
human  nature,"  and  she  loved  Dirk,  and  she  led 
a  lonely  life.  She  was  neither  a  heroine,  nor  a 
saint,  nor  a  fanatic,  sitting  out  there  in  the  little 
wood-shed  on  the  chopping-block. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  could  n't  have  had  that, 
leastways,"  she  cried  between  her  hands.  "  I 
have  n't  ever  had  much  else.  I  don't  see  why 
that  should  go  too." 

But  she  did  see.  In  about  ten  minutes  she 
saw  clearly  enough  to  get  up  from  the  chopping- 
block,  and  go  in  and  make  her  cup  of  tea. 


A  Preacher  and  a  Sermon.         291 


CHAPTER     XV. 

A    PREACHER   AND   A    SERMON. 

OHE  saw  clearly  enough  in  time  to  be  a  very 
^  happy  woman. 

Perley  Kelso,  at  least,  was  thinking  so,  when 
she  went  the  other  day  with  young  Mrs.  Hayle 
to  hear  one  of  her  street  sermons. 

Sip  had  "  set  up  for  a  preacher,"  after  all ; 
she  hardly  knew  how  ;  nobody  knew  exactly  how  ; 
it  had  come  about,  happened ;  taken  rather  the 
form  of  a  destiny  than  a  plan. 

The  change  had  fallen  upon  her  since  Catty's 
passing  "  out  of  sight."  She  was  apt  to  speak  of 
Catty  so.  She  was  not  dead  nor  lost.  She  lis- 
tened still  and  spoke.  She  only  could  not  see 
her. 

"  But  she  talks,"  said  Sip  under  her  breath,  — 
"  she  talks  to  me.  There 's  things  she  'd  have  me 
say.  That  was  how  I  first  went  to  the  meetings. 
I  'd  never  cared  about  meetings.  I  'd  never  been 


292  The  Silent  Partner. 

religious  nor  good.  But  Catty  had  such  things 
to  say  !  and  when  I  saw  the  people's  faces,  lifted 
up  and  listening,  and  when  I  talked  and  talked, 
it  all  came  to  me  one  night  like  this.  Do  you 
see  ?  Like  this.  I  was  up  to  the  Mission  reading 
a  little  hymn  I  know,  and  the  lights  were  on  the 
people's  faces,  and  in  a  minute  it  was  like  this. 
God  had  things  to  say.  I  'd  been  talking  Catty's 
words.  God  had  words.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
it  was  ;  but  I  stood  right  up  and  said  them  ;  and 
ever  since  there  's  been  more  than  I  could  say." 

"  What  is  there  about  the  girl  that  can  attract 
so  many  people  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Maverick  Hayle, 
standing  on  tiptoe  beside  Perley  on  the  outer  edge 
of  Sip's  audience,  and  turning  her  wide  eyes  on  it, 
like  a  child  at  a  menagerie.  "  There  are  old  men 
here,  and  old  women.  There 's  everybody  here. 
The  girl  looks  too  young  to  instruct  them." 

She  must  judge  for  herself  what  there  was 
about  her,  Miss  Kelso  said ;  it  had  been  always 
so ;  since  she  started  her  first  neighborhood 
meeting  in  the  Irish  woman's  kitchen  at  the  stone 
house,  she  had  found  listeners  enough  ;  they  were 
too  many  for  tenement  accommodations  after  a 
while,  and  so  the  thing  grew. 


A  Preacher  and  a  Sermon.         293 

Sometimes  she  used  the  chapel.  Sometimes 
she  preferred  a  doorstep  like  this,  and  the  open 
air. 

"  I  undertook  to  help  her  at  the  first,"  said 
Miss  Kelso,  smiling,  "  but  I  was  only  among  them 
at  best  ;  Sip  is  of  them  ;  she  understands  them 
and  they  understand  her  ;  so  I  left  her  to  her 
work,  and  I  keep  to  my  own.  Hush  !  Here  she 
is  ;  can  you  see  ?  Just  over  there  on  the  upper 
step." 

They  were  in  a  little  court,  a  miserable  place, 
breaking  out  like  a  wart  from  one  of  the  foulest 
alleys  in  Five  Falls  ;  a  place  such  as  Sip  was 
more  apt  than  not  to  choose  for  her  "  sermons." 
The  little  court  was  sheltered,  however,  and  com- 
paratively quiet.  There  may  have  been  fifty 
people  in  it. 

"  Everybody,"  as  Mrs.  Hayle  said,  —  old  Bijah, 
with  heavy  crutches,  sitting  on  a  barrel,  and 
offering  his  services  as  prompter  now  and  then, 
out  of  a  petition  to  the  Legislature  of  the  State 
of  Massachusetts  ;  Dib  Docket,  grown  into  long 
curls  and  a  brass  necklace  ;  pretty  little  Irish 
Maggie,  with  her  thin  cheek  upon  her  hand  ; 
Mr.  Mell,  frowningly  attentive  ;  the  young  watch- 


294  The  Silent  Partner. 

man,  and  his  young  wife  in  blue  ribbons,  making 
a  Scotch  picture  of  herself  up  against  the  old 
court  pump ;  all  Sip's  friends,  and  strangers  who 
drifted  in,  from  curiosity,  or  idleness,  or  that  sheer 
misery  which  has  an  instinct  always  for  such 
crowds. 

Sip  was  used  now  to  the  Scotch  picture,  quite. 
She  had  expected  it,  was  ready  for  it.  Dirk  was 
one  of  "other  folks,"  in  spite  of  himself.  She 
had  understood  that  from  the  first.  She  did  not 
mind  it  very  much.  She  framed  the  picture 
in  with  "God's  words,"  with  a  kind  of  solemn 
joy.  Dirk  was  happy.  She  liked  to  see  it,  know 
it,  while  she  talked.  She  was  glad  that  Nynee 
inclined  to  come  with  him  so  often  to  hear  her. 

Sip  came  out  on  the  doorstep  and  stood  for  a 
moment  with  her  hands  folded  down  before  her, 
and  her  keen  eyes  taking  the  measure  of  every 
face,  it  seemed,  in  the  little  court. 

There  was  nothing  saintly  about  Sip.  No 
halo  struck  through  the  little  court  upon  her 
doorstep.  Florence  Nightingale  or  the  Quaker 
Dinah  would  not  have  liked  her.  She  was  just 
a  little  rough,  brown  girl,  bringing  her  hands 
together  at  the  knuckles  and  talking  fast. 


A  Preacher  and  a  Sermon.         295 

"But  such  a  curious  preacher!"  said  Mrs. 
Maverick  Hayle. 

The  little  preacher  had  a  wandering  style,  as 
most  such  preachers  have.  Such  a  style  can  no 
more  be  caught  on  the  point  of  a  pen  than  the 
rustle  of  crisp  leaves  or  the  aroma  of  dropping 
nuts.  There  was  a  syntax  in  Sip's  brown  face 
and  bent  hands  and  poor  dress  and  awkward 
motions.  There  were  correctness  and  perspicuity 
about  that  old  doorstep.  The  muddy  little  court 
was  an  appeal,  the  square  of  sky  above  her  head 
a  peroration.  In  that  little  court  Sip  was  elo- 
quent. Here  on  the  parlor  sofa,  in  clean  cuffs 
and  your  slippers,  she  harangues  you. 

"  Look  here,"  she  was  saying,  "  you  men 
and  women,  and  you  boys  and  girls,  that  have 
come  to  hear  me  !  You  say  that  you  are  poor 
and  miserable.  I  've  heard  you.  You  say  you  're 
worked  and  drove  and  slaved,  and  up  early  and 
down  late,  and  hurried  and  worried  and  fretted, 
and  too  hot  and  too  cold,  and  too  cross  and 
too  poor,  to  care  about  religion.  I  know.  I  'm 
worked  and  drove,  and  up  and  down,  and  hur- 
ried and  worried  and  fretted,  and  hot  and  cold, 
and  cross  and  poor  myself.  I  know  about  that 


296  The  Silent  Partner. 

Religion  will  do  for  rich  folks.  That's  what  you 
say,  —  I  know.  I  've  said  it  a  many  times  my- 
self. Curse  the  rich  folks  and  their  religion  !  — 
that 's  what  you  say.  I  know.  Have  n't  I  said 
it  a  many  times  myself  ? 

"  Now  see  here  !  O  you  men  and  women, 
and  you  boys  and  girls,  can't  you  see  ?  It  ain't  a 
rich  folks'  religion  that  I  've  brought  to  talk  to 
you.  Rich  religion  ain't  for  you  and  ain't  for  me. 
We  're  poor  folks,  and  we  want  a  poor  folks'  re- 
ligion. We  must  have  a  poor  folks'  religion  or 
none  at  all.  We  know  that. 

"  Now  listen  to  me  !  O  you  men  and  women, 
and  you  girls  and  boys,  listen  to  what  I  've  got  to 
tell  you.  The  religion  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of 
God  Almighty  is  the  only  poor  folks'  religion  in 
all  the  world.  Folks  have  tried  it  many  times. 
They've  got  up  pious  names  and  pious  fights. 
There  have  been  wars  and  rumors  of  wars,  and 
living  and  dying,  and  books  written,  and  money 
spent,  and  blood  shed  for  other  religions,  but 
there  's  never  been  any  poor  folks'  religion 
but  that  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God  Al- 
mighty  

"  O  listen  to  me !     You  go  on  your  wicked 


A.  Preacher  and  a  Sermon*         297 

ways,  and  you  drink,  and  fight,  and  swear,  and 
you  live  in  sinful  shames,  and  you  bring  your 
little  children  up  to  shameful  sins,  and  when 
Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God  Almighty  does  you 
the  favor  to  ask  you  for  your  wicked  hearts,  you 
hold  up  your  faces  before  him,  and  you  say, 
'  We  're  poor  folks,  Lord.  We  're  up  early,  and 
we  're  down  late,  and  we  're  droved  and  slaved, 
and  rich  folks  are  hard  on  us.  The  mill-masters 
drive  their  fine  horses,  Lord,  and  we  walk  and 
work  till  we  're  worn  out.  There  's  a  man  with 
a  million  dollars,  Lord,  and  we  have  n't  laid  by 
fifty  yet  against  a  rainy  day  ! '  Then  you  grow 
learned  and  wise,  and  you  shake  your  heads,  and 
you  say,  '  Capital  has  all  the  ease,  Lord,  and 
labor  has  all  the  rubs  ;  and  things  ain't  as  they 
should  be  ;  and  it  can't  be  expected  of  us  to  be 
religious  in  such  a  state  of  affairs.'  And  you  say, 
'  I  'm  at  work  all  day  and  nights,  I  'm  tired ' ;  or, 
'I  'm  at  work  all  the  week,  and  of  a  Sunday  I 
must  sleep  ;  I  can't  be  praying'  ;  and  so  you  say, 
'  I  pray  thee,  Lord,  have  me  excused ! '  and  so 
you  go  your  wicked  ways. 

"  O  listen  to  me  !     This  is  what  he  says,  '  / 
was  up,  and  down,  and  drove,  and   slaved,  and 
13* 


298  The  Silent  Partner. 

hurried,  myself/  he  says,  'I  was  too  hot,  and 
too  cold,  and  worried,  and  anxious,  and  /  saw 
rich  folks  take  their  ease,  and  /  was  poor  like 
you,'  he  says. 

"  O  you  men  and  women,  and  you  boys  and 
girls,  listen  to  him  !  Never  you  mind  about  me 
any  longer,  listen  to  HIM  \ 

"  He  won't  be  hard  on  you.  Don't  you  suppose 
he  knows  how  the  lives  you  live  are  hard  enough 
without  that  heaped  against  them  ?  Don't  you 
suppose  he  knows  how  the  world  is  all  a  tangle, 
and  how  the  great  and  the  small,  and  the  wise 
and  the  foolish,  and  the  fine  and  the  miserable, 
and  the  good  and  the  bad,  are  all  snarled  in  and 
out  about  it  ?  And  does  n't  he  know  how  long  it 
is  unwinding,  and  how  the  small  and  the  foolish 
and  the  bad  and  the  miserable  places  stick  in  his 
hands  ?  And  don't  you  suppose  he  knows  what 
places  they  are  to  be  born  in  and  to  die  in,  and 
to  inherit  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generations 
of  us,  like  the  color  of  our  hair,  or  the  look  about 
our  mouths  ? 

"  I  tell  you,  he  knows,  he  knows  !  I  tell  you, 
he  knows  where  the  fault  is,  and  where  the  knot 
is,  and  who  's  to  blame,  and  who  's  to  suffer. 


A  Preacher  and  a  Sermon.        299 

And  I  tell  you  he  knows  there  '11  never  be  any 
way  but  his  way  to  unsnarl  us  all. 

"  Folks  may  make  laws,  but  laws  won't  do  it 
Kings  and  congresses  may  put  their  heads  to- 
gether, but  they  '11  have  their  trouble  for  nothing. 
Governments  and  churches  may  finger  us  over, 
but  we  '11  only  snarl  the  more. 

"  Rich  and  poor,  big  or  little,  there 's  no  way 
under  heaven  for  us  to  get  out  of  our  twist,  but 
Christ's  way. 

"  O  you  men  and  women,  and  you  girls  and 
boys,  look  in  your  own  hearts  and  see  what  way 
that  is.  That  way  is  in  the  heart.  I  can't  see  it. 
I  can't  touch  it.  I  can't  mark  it  and  line  it  for 
you.  Look.  Mind  that  you  don't  look  at  the 
rich  folks'  ways !  Mind  that  you  don't  stop  to 
say,  It  's  their  way  to  do  this,  and  that,  and  the 
other,  that  they  'd  never  do  nor  think  on.  Per- 
haps it  is.  But  that  's  none  of  your  business, 
when  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  God 
Almighty  does  you  the  favor  to  ask  for  you,  and 
jour  heart,  and  your  ways,  to  gather  'em  up  into 
his  poor  cut  hands  and  hold  them,  and  to  bow 
his  poor  nurt  iace  down  over  them  and  bless 
them  ! 


300  The  Silent  Partner. 

"  O  you  men  and  women,  and  you  boys  and 
girls,  Christ's  way  is  a  patient  way,  it  is  a  pure 
way,  it  is  a  way  that  cares  more  for  another  world 
than  for  this  one,  and  more  to  be  holy  than  to 
be  happy,  and  more  for  other  folks  than  for  itself. 
It 's  a  long  way  and  a  winding  way,  but  it 's  a 
good  way  and  a  true  way,  and  there 's  comfort  in 
it,  and  there 's  joy  at  the  end  of  it,  and  there  's 
Christ  all  over  it,  and  I  pray  God  to  lead  you  in 
it,  every  one,  forever. 

"  Christ  in  heaven  !  "  said  Sip  then,  bending 
her  lighted,  dark  face,  "  thou  hast  been  Christ 
on  earth.  That  helps  us.  That  makes  us  brave 
to  hunt  for  thee.  We  are  poor  folks,  Christ,  and 
we  've  got  a  load  of  poor  folks'  sorrows,  and  of 
poor  folks'  foolishness,  and  of  poor  folks'  fears., 
and  of  poor  folks'  wickedness,  and  we  've  got  no- 
wheres  else  to  take  it.  Here  it  is.  Lord  Christ, 
we  seem  to  feel  as  if  it  belonged  to  thee.  We 
seem  to  feel  as  if  we  was  thy  folks.  We  seem  to 
know  that  thou  dost  understand  us,  some  ways, 
better  than  the  most  of  people.  Be  our  Saviour, 
Lord  Christ,  for  thine  own  name's  sake." 

Miss   Kelso   and   Mrs.   Hayle   left   the   little 


A  Preacher  ana  a  Sermon.        301 

preacher  still  speaking  God's  words  —  and  Cat- 
ty's, and  stole  away  before  the  breaking  up  of  her 
audience.  They  walked  in  silence  for  a  few 
minutes  up  the  street. 

"  They  listened  to  her,"  said  Fly  then,  musing- 
ly. "  On  the  whole,  I  don't  know  that  I  wonder. 
They  looked  as  if  they  needed  it." 

"  There  are  few  things  that  they  do  not  need," 
said  Perley,  quietly.  "  We  do  not  quite  under- 
stand that,  I  think,  —  we  who  never  need.  It  is 
a  hungry  world,  Fly." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Fly,  placidly  perplexed ;  "  I  don't 
know  much  about  the  world,  Perley." 

Perley  was  silent.  She  was  wondering  what 
good  it  would  do  —  either  the  world  or  Fly  —  if 
she  did. 

"  Kenna  Van  Doozle  was  asking  the  other 
day,"  said  Fly,  suddenly,  "  whether  you  still  went 
about  among  these  people  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  evening,  as  you  used,  alone.  I  should  be  so 
timid,  Perley  !  And  then,  do  you  always  find  it 
quite  proper  ? " 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  feel  afraid  of  my  friends 
in  Five  Falls  at  any  hour,"  said  Miss  Kelso,  re- 
servedly. There  seemed  such  a  gulf  between 


302  The  Silent  Partner. 

her  and  this  pretty,  good-natured  little  lady. 
Proper  !  Why  try  to  pass  the  impassable  ?  Fly 
might  stay  where  she  was. 

"  And  yet,"  sighed  Mrs.  Maverick  Hayle,  "  this 
dreary  work  seems  to  suit  you  through  and 
through.  That  is  what  troubles  me  about  it." 

Perley  Kelso's  healthy,  happy  face  took  the 
quiver  of  a  smile.  The  fine,  rare  face !  The 
womanly,  wonderful  face  !  Fly  was  right.  It 
was  a  "  suited  "  face.  It  begged  for  nothing.  It 
was  opulent  and  warm.  Life  brimmed  over  at  it. 

Stephen  Garrick,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
road,  climbed  the  hill  alone.  It  was  a  late  No- 
vember day  ;  a  day  of  cleared  heavens  and  bared 
trees.  Yet  he  looked  about  for  bright  maples, 
and  felt  as  if  he  walked  under  a  sealed  sky,  and 
in  an  unreal  light  of  dying  leaves. 


THE   END. 


fERSIDF.  T>KES§. 


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